


Battlegrounds

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Series: Romulan Commander series [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-12
Updated: 2010-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate brings McCoy back into the hands of his abuser, but some things are changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battlegrounds

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to "Casualties" and "The Sound of Breaking Ice". Reading the prequels is recommended. Many thanks to Drusilla for her beta! All remaining grammar glitches, medical errors and lapses in logic are mine. No real persons were harmed in the writing of this story. I promise a happy ending for McCoy in the end of the series (though it's not finished yet 3 years later *cough*).  
> Originally posted November 2007.

For a moment, the dark-grey hull of the small freighter was brightly illuminated by the sun of the current star system; then it returned to a dark-grey that almost vanished against the darkness of space.

McCoy looked away from the window and into the small mess of the ship. Normally a freighter, it also transported passengers who wanted to reach this forgotten corner of space, like the moon that was McCoy's goal. He was much later than he had originally estimated when leaving Jim Kirk in San Francisco one and a half months ago. But closing his private practice and canceling his beds and lectures at the clinic alone had taken a month and quite some money. The worst part, though, had been to avoid the people who wanted to ask him for the 'why', because he couldn't tell them the truth. Neither the sweet old lady who poked him for an answer and finally speculated that he was running off with a girl, nor the self-pleased hospital manager who sat on his office desk with the family photos, his large belly pinched behind it, who blathered about responsibilities to the medical community and his patients…

Never in his life had he cared so little about his patients; it was as if a there was a damping field around him, diverting anything that could touch him. The only things that touched him came in the night and invaded his dreams, turning them into nightmares. The first week at home, he had succumbed to heavy drinking, but then he had thrown his bottles out into the recycler and resigned to nothing more but the little red pills that were almost without side effects and standard Fleet medicine. He maneuvered himself through the month, sitting on packed suitcases, and once all deals were done and he had found a housekeeper for his little inherited house, he had grabbed them and left. The last thing he had done on his console before shutting it down had been filing his form for quitting Starfleet once and for all. He didn't leave them a reply address. They wouldn't be able to debate his decision anymore.

Then he had taken the next best flight into the right direction, hopping from ship to ship, not caring if he made any detours, as long as he kept moving…moving towards the moon as much as moving away from Earth.

He was fleeing, he knew it. But it felt...logical. It felt like a new start, in a way. He had had the same feeling when enlisting with Starfleet to get away from the memories of his disastrous divorce.

Strangely, coming home with the Enterprise hadn't felt like that at all. The starship had become his home, his colleagues his friends. After the end of the mission, however, everyone had drifted apart, as if there had been nothing worth to keep of the good times. Jim himself had told him that it was necessary to take a break; but to McCoy, his life on Earth felt only like being stranded on the wrong planet. He had slipped into the emperor's new robes because others told him it would be a good idea, but not because he wanted to. What he actually had wanted was to return to space with them all, no matter the challenges, almost-deaths and real losses.

Well, now he was back into space. Not quite the way he had imagined, but it was better than nothing. Strange to think that she was the reason that…

No. He was just making the best of his current situation. And if he had never met her, he could still have left, but without the sleepless nights, or worse, the nights in which he awoke in panic, soaked in sweat from the memories that turned up. They changed a little every time, and once in a while took an erotic turn he absolutely couldn't handle. It made him sick when he found himself aroused in the morning, her still in his mind…he hadn't been in the least aroused when she had abused him, so his subconscious could do him the favor to stick to the truth instead of reinterpreting the events.

McCoy awoke from his musings as a child whined at the next table. Emotionlessly, he watched as the mother tried to appease it, with little effect. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and he sipped his coffee to get rid of it. He looked out of the window again, and there was only dark in dark.

How familiar.

*

The flight was uneventful and on schedule, stopping at odd planets and moons; only one standard day was left before they would arrive at the moon McCoy would start his new life on. He went up from his bed after another rather short night, trying to pretend he had any natural sleep rhythm left. He dressed casually, and never in black or bright blue; instead he chose natural colors like the beige pants he wore today, contrasted by a red, long-sleeved buttoned shirt. He put his dark-brown jacket over it, which was patent imitate with a strip of fake fur at the collar, then eyed himself in the mirror. He looked harmless, if a little worn-out, with the pouches under his eyes grown to new proportions over the last weeks. He was no fan of plastic surgery, but maybe he should give it a try one day.

He went up the stairs to the mess for the breakfast buffet, already knowing that he would only have coffee. He had never really liked to eat in the morning, and these days, even half a bagel seemed too much to him. The mess was rather empty, with a few men, women and two children sitting distributed all over the room. He took his cup of coffee and sat down on a small table near a window to look outside. There was dark in dark, as expected. But there was also a reflection of light on some of the hull plates. He stared at the spots, wondering where the source was. Then he suddenly understood — the source was above them. There had to be another ship, outside of his view angle.

He looked around. There was no crew to be seen at the moment, and nobody had made any official announcement that they would have a ship-to-ship contact. Possibly there was a good explanation for that, but his gut feeling said something else. He went up and crossed the mess to enter the corridor that led up to the bridge, as far as he knew. The corridor seemed empty, everything quiet but for his own steps. His feeling of foreboding grew, and he began hiding in the shadows of the door frames and corners, whenever possible. When he made it to the bridge, he peeked into it. It seemed empty and dark except for the display on the main screen that showed the ship that hung above them, a large, looming presence with hull signs he had never seen before.

He turned; at least, he tried, but something hit him squarely in the back. Paralyzed, he fell to the floor. Someone turned him around and searched his clothes, rough hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket and pants. Then he heard the characteristic creak of his wallet when opened.

"He's Starfleet!" a voice said.

"Kill him," someone else said. "No good messing with them."

'No,' McCoy thought frantically.

"And a doctor!"

"Show me his papers." Shadows shifted above him, and McCoy tried to say something, but his lips just wouldn't move.

"Secure him," the new order came.

Something snapped and McCoy felt another pain flashing through his body — then everything went dark.

*

It was the smell he noted first of all, the stench of too many people in a small space. The constant murmur followed right after it, the characteristic noise the same many people made when their whispers multiplied to a layer of sound. With effort he opened his eyes and found himself lying in a slightly curved compartment on the floor, formed so that his body comfortably sank into it, people left and right of him. It had to be a kind of storage room on a ship, he decided when he examined the room, but it was gloomy, with the lights low. Nobody was walking around, but when he tried to move, he understood why — his right ankle was tied to a chain that ran on the ground before his little partition and seemed to span to the left and right corners of the room, hooked to the floor every few meters. The chain was simply looped around each right leg of a prisoner and the chain links connected with a lock. A really cheap method, McCoy thought with a frown, but unfortunately very effective. Obviously, the small freighter had been brought up by space-slavers. McCoy had heard of them, but even the Enterprise had never encountered any besides the Orion ship once; they were thought to stay outside of Federation space most of the time…bad luck he was the one to learn better.

He eyed his fellow prisoners. There were only men, mostly humans with a few aliens sprinkled in between. They were maybe forty, which were more than there had been on the freighter, so that ship couldn't have been their only prey. He missed a few faces and all the women and children. Possibly they were kept elsewhere or — his blood froze over the thought — killed.

No, he liked the idea of them being in another part of the ship a lot better.

He tugged at the chain again, but it held; it made only the chain links bite unnecessarily into his skin above the edge of his shoes.

"It's no use," the man to his right said. "I tried for days, but they don't even come and keep you from trying, so sure are they that it will keep you locked."

McCoy nodded. "Is this a space-slaver's ship?"

"Guess so." The man laughed. "Didn't officially present themselves yet."

McCoy briefly gazed at the man to his left, but he seemed to be asleep. "So," he said, looking back to the man on his right, "considering our state, you seem to be in a rather good mood."

"May well be," the man said. "I've asked their helper if I can buy off myself, and his boss and I made a deal. So I won't be here much longer. The money trade should be done soon."

"How much does a life cost here?" McCoy asked.

"They wanted gold and diamonds for the equivalent of one hundred thousand Federation credits."

McCoy frowned. "Lots of money."

"I'm a trader myself, they caught me on my ship. Believe me, I'm worth the price." The man laughed again.

Something itched on McCoy's chest, and he slipped his hand into his shirt, rubbing the area on his left upper chest. When he took a closer look at it, it looked like a burn.

"It's from their whips," the man elaborated. "Electrically charged whips. Knock the wind out of almost everyone."

"Just great," McCoy said, his mind running in circles. He could probably get such a sum together with a little help from friends…even if it meant calling Jim. Anything would be better than to end in slavery. "Is there somebody looking after us?" he asked.

"The boy," the man nodded. "He's due soon, with food and water." As if said boy had overheard the words, a door at the end of the room opened and a young man stepped in, with a box in his hand. He distributed little parcels to the prisoners, and McCoy took his when the guy passed him. It was an emergency ration — long over its date of expiry — but he ate the greasy, pasty contents anyway. The ration came with a liter of water, and McCoy took a sip before putting the rest aside for later.

The boy returned to collect the empty packages, and ignored McCoy's attempt to speak to him.

"He never says anything," the man explained when McCoy looked after the guy in frustration. "You need to talk to the helper."

"And when?"

"He only comes when he's got some official job here. Getting someone, or bringing in someone new. You can recognize him by the PADD on his belt."

"And what about…a bathroom?" McCoy asked.

"You'll be given a bucket twice a day, so better get your bladder under control. It's stinking enough around here already." The man seemed really overly amused, and McCoy decided that he was probably on drugs.

McCoy rubbed his face, suddenly very exhausted. What had seemed like a good idea to get away from his former life seemed to take a very bad course. He almost wished he had stayed on Earth. Curling into his corner, he slipped into sleep. At least, there was light.

*

Nothing much happened for two days, and the little bit of talking McCoy did with the man on his left wasn't enlightening him any further concerning the ship or their future. Sometimes men were led out never to return, and once a group of eight was brought in, possibly from a new raid. But although joined in misery, people were only talking within their own group, if any, or keeping quiet. The one time a prisoner shouted and rallied in the room had taught everyone a lesson, as the helper had shown up with an electrical whip, beating the man until he fell unconscious. Probably this kind of scene happened with every new group once…and it was an effective show. McCoy remembered the unique pain of the whip, and rubbed the still sore spot in thoughts.

It was at the third day that the helper showed up with an armed guard, and unchained the man right of McCoy. That was his chance, McCoy decided, and cautiously raised his hand. "I would want to buy myself off, too. Please, tell me what you want from me."

The helper looked at him, and for a second McCoy wondered if the man didn't understand him. But then the helper took the PADD in his hand and pressed a few buttons. "No buy," he said.

"What do you mean, no buy?" McCoy asked. "I'll be able to get quite a sum together. Just tell me how much."

The helper stashed the PADD away. "No buy because you're already sold."

"Sold?" McCoy asked, eyes widening. "Now wait a minute, you can't just sell me! I was in Starfleet. People will look for me!" He bit his tongue — his Starfleet history had almost caused his execution, so it might be a bad thing to bring up now.

But the helper only shook his head. "Already sold. Buyer did not care. Business will be concluded tomorrow." Numbly, McCoy stared after them as they led his seat neighbor out of the room.

He sank into his little corner in despair. The hope of being able to buy himself out of this situation had been the only thing that had kept him upright over the last three days. Now, the realization of his fate crushed him in depressing clarity. He had heard a hideous story from a colleague once, who had been abducted to fight in a war between two alien species. The man had been rescued only by chance after five years, and had paid his adventure with scars on body and soul he never got rid of again. Not a nice prospect. As if he didn't have enough scars already from his encounter with…

He rolled to his side, clutching his jacket tightly around his body. No good thinking about the future too much. He'd find out tomorrow. A profound feeling of unreality overcame him, and he gave in to it, drifting into strange dreams.

*

True to his statement, the helper returned with a guard the next day to remove the lock and unchain McCoy. He was led out of the room and into a kind of passage. With the guard's phaser pointed at him, McCoy swallowed down any remark as the helper tightly strapped his wrists together behind his back. But his resolve was sorely challenged as they pulled a sack over his head, which was nontransparent and smelled awkwardly. He felt a surge of panic that made him struggle for a moment, but forced it down when the phaser's head poked his chest. It was no good being shot for a flashback. With unsteady legs, he followed his guides. He startled when the ground suddenly moved beneath his feet; he had to be in a lift. Once it stopped, there were long corridors to walk along.

In the end of his journey, he was directed to a certain position. It was probably a beam spot, and McCoy saw his speculation confirmed as he felt the typical prickling of the transport beam. But it felt quite different to what he was used from Starfleet, and when he landed, a wave of nausea hit him. Disoriented, he made a step to the side to keep himself from falling, then there was someone to hold him, and he was escorted down a few steps.

"Is this all of his equipment?" a male voice asked, and it took McCoy a moment to notice that it had been his translator that delivered the Standard words.

"All that they wanted to give us for our money, greedy little ferrets. But at least we have him," a female voice said.

Cautiously, the hood was removed. He found himself in a rather shady transport room, but with a design very different to the other ship. There were people, three of them, with long, pointed ears and upswept brows, wearing dark colors.

Romulans.

Someone waved a hand on front of his face, claiming his attention. "Look at me." He blinked, once, twice, not trusting his eyes.

"Welcome on board, doctor," the Romulan commander said.

He shook his head. It couldn't be her; it had to be a dream, a hallucination.

"I guess you remember me," she said. "I remember you very well. It has only been…what…a little over two months in your time? Interesting that our ways don't seem want to part."

McCoy clamped his hands to fists as another, much more profound wave of nausea hit him. "Not again. Please. Just kill me." He closed his eyes as she reached out to touch his chest, right above his heart. He could feel his pulse exploding in a rush, pounding in his ears.

"I bought a doctor because I need one. For a dying planet."

"A planet?" All he could really think about was that her hand was on him, again, and he was just as helpless as in the past. Sweat poured down his forehead, droplets pooling on his upper lip

"Look at me," she ordered again, and he complied because…he just couldn't disobey. He was shaking — he was falling apart right in front of her in a way he hadn't in the past. There couldn't be so much bad luck in the universe to bring him back into her hold, back to those eyes, that face that haunted him so much.

"This planet really needs your help. They are dying; the people are dying."

McCoy dazedly nodded. He closed his eyes as her fingers stroked his neck, his breathing close to sobbing. What her need for a doctor had to do with him and why she had to humiliate him for it was beyond him.

"Why can't you just let me go?" he whispered. "You've been done with me already. Let me go."

"I already told you I can't. I need you."

He managed to meet her gaze — how, he wasn't sure. "Is that your idea of honor?"

"Destiny brought you back to me; obviously it considers your debts still unpaid." Her hand was on his throat, her fingers on his pulse. "You are in dire need of a shower." She drew her fingers down his shirt, but the dreaded touch didn't come — the fingertips left once they had passed the navel.

"Prepare him," she ordered her men. Two Romulans went to him and led him away.

*

McCoy stared at the mirror in front of him, into his own, freshly shaven but overly pale face. There was a metallic, rather tightly fit collar locked around his neck, with a ring in front. Around his wrists, there were similarly metallic, seamless cuffs without rings. He'd surely find out what they were for. He had been allowed a sonic shower and been given fresh clothes, a dark-grey sweater and pants, which loosely hung around his body. The days of imprisonment on the slaver's ship hadn't done anything to get his weight back to normal, and now, knowing that she was onboard and the commanding officer, if not the captain, made him positively ill.

The door of his cabin opened without knocking. "You are requested to attend the evening meal," the Romulan said. "Move on." McCoy was led through the small cruiser, noting that it couldn't have more than four levels and that it was in a bad shape, the coatings on the wall and floor dull and off-color.

The quarters in which his journey ended were small but nicely decorated. He assumed it was her personal cabin. The table was set for two, with long, fragile-looking glasses next to triangular ceramic plates.

She was standing on the other side of the room, her eyes on a screen. Her hair was untied and longer than in the past, hanging like a curtain around her shoulders. She wore a pullover and pants in what seemed to be standard Romulan grey-green.

"Take a seat," she said without looking. There were only two chairs, and they were rather close to each other. He took the back of the chair next to him and moved a bit away from hers before sitting down. His eyes fixed on the plate in front of him, he held his breath as she moved around the table and to his side.

When he felt her hand on his chin, he pulled away reflexively.

"Stay where you are," she ordered coolly and clamped her hand into his shoulder. "Or should I neck-pinch you?"

"I thought Romulans can't do that," he said. Under the table, he felt his legs shaking.

"The knowledge has been forgotten, but once I was in Federation space, it was easy to gain information from my distant cousins." She put her hand on his chin again to turn it around, and this time he gave in. She searched his face. "You are thinner than in the past."

"Guess why," he couldn't help saying.

"I know; the slavers don't like to feed their goods. They think it's too expensive. So I guess you are hungry." She turned around and took her seat at the table.

He had been starved on the slaver's ship, but the view of her churned his stomach. "Not really."

"Indulge me anyway," she said and clapped her hands. The food was carried in, and it looked and smelled delicious, a mixture of meat and vegetables with something resembling potatoes.

"Enjoy your meal, doctor," she said and started eating. He stared down at the plate, now filled. With effort he took the offered trident fork and pierced a piece of vegetable, but he just wasn't able to put it in his mouth. Finally he gave up and put the fork back down onto the plate.

When he caught her dark eyes resting on him, he felt panic spreading through his body — an all too well-known feeling.

"You have to eat, doctor. I cannot let you starve."

"What will you do if I don't?" he asked.

She kept eating, letting him wait for the answer until she had chewed a piece of meat. "There is always the possibility of forcibly feeding you, but I have heard that it is an unpleasant experience for the victim."

He clamped his hands together under the table. "What do you want from me?"

"As I said, we need your expertise. But this is a dinner for two, doctor, not the place to speak of serious problems. You will receive your briefing tomorrow."

"Who says I'll help you?"

"I say so." She put down her own fork, her manners changing. "Because you will do anything I demand of you."

He didn't even think before answering. "No."

Was there a smile on her face?

"Interesting," she said and resumed eating.

He sat on hot coals or in an ice bath, he wasn't sure. But he knew that he hated the careless way she handled him, as if he were just a specimen to her. If she brought him down, she could at least acknowledge him and his suffering.

"I won't help you," he repeated.

"I didn't know you had a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"An unproven theory," she said, a light smile on her face again. "Say, doctor, how was your trip back to Earth?" she asked in a conversational non-sequitur. "Do you have nightmares about it? Do you wake up in the night and find a scream dying in your throat? And I guess you always sleep with the lights on."

Something snapped inside of him. "You bastard!" he shouted and hurled his plate and glass towards her as he jumped up.

Her fingers were instantly on a device on her belt, and a second later he was lying on the floor screaming, as electric charges went from the collar all through his body. When she released the button, he was fighting for air, stars dancing in front of his eyes. He coiled, aware of her boots next to his head.

"I see, we need to establish the ground once more," she said coolly. She grabbed him and effortlessly turned him on his stomach, then knelt on his back and crossed his wrists. With a little click, the cuffs connected. They had to be magnetic, McCoy realized. Then she called one of her men. "Bring him down to the spare room. I'll be there in a minute."

McCoy was dragged away and dumped on his knees in a small room two levels lower. The only good thing about electricity was that it was over rather quickly; only his neck muscles still signaled their abuse. But it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

When she arrived, she brought a piece of chain of maybe twenty centimeters and two locks with her. Wordlessly she forced his neck down to the floor and chained the collar to a ring on the ground.

"You may shout all you want, but this room is sound-proof," she said. "Good night." The guard left with her, and when they switched off the light, everything was totally dark and silent.

McCoy let out a whimper. He stretched out on the cold floor, trying to find a comfortable position…which wasn't really to be found. Why couldn't she just kill him? To be back in this situation was more than he could bear. She was about to break him as easily as a match, with a snip of her fingers. There were tears in his eyes, but he didn't want to give in yet. He was just in a room. He was alive. Nothing would happen in the next hours. Nobody would be coming. He knew her routine. He could think about it with distance. He…

Damn.

Just relax, he told himself. Close your eyes. Count to one hundred. Keep breathing.

He came to ninety-two before his mind was calm enough to let sleep claim him. He felt himself drifting into it, when suddenly a metallic noise could be heard, loud enough to awake him instantly. It took him a while to get over his slight shock, but when he was close to sleeping again, there was the noise again.

After the fourth time he acknowledged that this wasn't by chance but her way to keep him from sleeping.

After the eighth time, he totally lost it.

"Fuck you fuck you fuck you…." Cursing in every phrase he had ever learned, he pushed his feet into the nearby wall. He shouted at the top of his lungs, putting all the bottled-up hate of the last months into his outbreak. His own ears were ringing from the noise, his legs and feet hurting and his hands falling asleep from the wedged cuffs when he slowly ran out of energy. Stomping against the wall a last time, he started sobbing when he realized that nobody would come and save him from this nightmare.

*

The dark persisted as he went into an endless cycle of almost-sleep and noise. He lost track of time in the haze…mostly. The one thing that reminded him of its passing was the growing pressure in his bladder. It had to be longer than a day already, he deduced from it. And he would go mad if she'd keep him here for much longer, after which he probably wouldn't be of good use to her anymore. Which would be a nice way out, now that he thought of it. Just losing his mind, just vanishing into some fantasy world…

But then the door opened, and he briefly closed his eyes as it let in a ray of burning light.

"Ready for talking?" she asked simply.

"Talking?" he whispered, his throat dry.

"Yes. On my terms. Or do you want to stay here for longer?"

He fought for a moment, then shook his head.

"Say it."

He swallowed his left-over pride. "Please, get me out of here," he spoke under his breath, every word a pain in itself.

She unchained his collar and lifted him up as if he were a puppet. Then she brought him back to her quarters. After unlocking the cuffs, she pointed to her bathroom. "Go and refresh yourself."

He hurried to the room, making it to the toilet just in time. There were towels and a shower, and he decided to make good use of that too. The signs on the faucet didn't tell him anything, but he rejoiced when he stood under the spray. A water shower. He hadn't known Romulans had those onboard. The spray in his face was almost as good as sleeping. He took the soap and rubbed his body until it was red and hurting.

"You like it?" he suddenly heard her amused voice through the rush of water. His eyes snapped open to find her in front of him, the stall's door open.

"Stay where you are," she said, "and hands in your back."

The magnetic cuffs drew together, chaining him up. What a ridiculous picture he had to be, with the water flowing over his head and down his body in thick droplets. She looked up and down his body with an examining gaze. "You are really a lot thinner than in the past." She met his eyes. "Do you hate me?"

His breathing was rapid, forced out of his lungs. "Yes," he finally said.

"Did you dream of killing me?" she asked and stroked his right hip.

"Yes." His back was still under the hot water, but his front side was cooling, and he began shivering from the cold and the humiliation. If he just had his hands free…

"How would you do it?"

"What?" he asked in confusion.

Her hand was moving to his front. "How would you kill me? Would you shoot me? Stab me? Mix a poison in my drink?"

Thinking was hard in his state, freezing and only a micrometer away from a full-fledged panic. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I…don't know. I think I only want you to be dead. See your dead body on the ground and know that you'll never again be able to lay your hands on me."

"I see." There was that irritating smile again, so apparently friendly but also calculated, cold, feeding from his emotional distress.

He screwed his eyes shut as she took his soft genitals in hand. "Please don't…" he begged, his voice shaking.

"And I thought you liked it a little," she said. "You got off often enough." He blinked when he felt her drawing away, only to see her taking his jumpsuit in hand. "Fresh clothes are waiting for you in my room." She pressed the release button for the cuffs on her way out, and his hands sank to his side.

"Damn you," he whispered and leaned against the back of the shower, slowly sliding down to coil up on the bottom of the stall.

*

He came out of the shower and stayed in the door frame, nude as he was, until she took notice of him. She pointed to a pile at the table, and he was surprised to find his own, cleaned clothes there. He dressed, ignoring her gaze as much as possible.

Then he waited until she ordered him to sit down on a chair on the other side of the table. Her rules; her reign. This had stopped being about the past and what anyone had done to her, and grown into a battle between her and him…with him on the losing side. She wouldn't kill him as long as she needed him, but she had made it very clear that he'd regret every single wrong move. And he didn't feel strong enough right now to withstand her repertoire of effective torture methods.

One of the Romulans entered and placed a glass, a cup and a plate in front of McCoy. "Eat," she said. He eyed the plate. There were something like bagels and —"An apple," he said surprised and took it in his hand.

She lifted one eyebrow. "Especially for you, doctor. I meant it when I said I need you in good health. There is a Romulan version of coffee in the cup, and water in the glass."

"Thank you." He took a sip of the beverage, and while it didn't taste like coffee at all to him, it seemed to counteract his returning bone-deep exhaustion. The apple was wonderful, and McCoy was sure it must be worth a fortune at this end of the galaxy. Once he had eaten most of the plate's contents, she gave him a PADD. "This is your assignment."

He took it and eyed the contents.

"I took care to have everything translated to Standard for you."

"I see." The data danced in front of his eyes and slowly built a pattern. Two patients, age 10 and 15. Unknown infections, high fever, both dead within a week.

"Who wrote these reports?"

"The doctor of the affected colony."

"Then why do you need me?" McCoy asked with a frown.

"Because these were the last reports he ever wrote. He died four days after them."

"Are there more outbreaks?"

"Last I heard, two children. But we will soon arrive there, so that you can assess the situation yourself."

He put the PADD aside. "Why do you do this? Take the pains to help that colony?"

There was a moment of hesitation, then she answered, "There are people on the planet that are very important to me."

"And I should save them."

"Yes. I investigated your reputation, and it is very good in the medical field. Not so much as commander."

"Guess so," he murmured.

"We will arrive in six hours. Prepare yourself. In your quarter, you will find your medikit, your medical tricorder and a standard tricorder. If I find you trying to send messages…" She waved to the device on her belt.

"I understand." He nodded.

A guard let him back to the cabin he had been assigned at his arrival, and as promised the equipment was all there. They had really managed to salvage his own medical tricorder and medikit, even though obviously not the rest of his luggage, like his PADDs and clothes. The standard tricorder was a little worn-out, probably purchased from some not so official sources, but in working order. He checked the tricorders and performed some standard routines with them. All looked well, and the idea of some sensible work elated him. Anything was better than just being locked up. Anything was better than to have her constantly around him, breathing down his neck.

When everything was prepared, there was still time left. And for once undisturbed by anyone, he lay down on the bed, huddled himself into the blanket and instantly fell asleep.

*

The planet was basically a dusty, dry piece of soil in the middle of nowhere, reminding McCoy of many other nameless planets of the past; they may be colonized one day, but it would be no fun for the first generations, even with the current technology.

The ship had crossed the atmosphere and landed a little outside of the closest habitat. It forced the commander, McCoy and the three other male crewmembers to shoulder their loads and walk through the slightly hilly area.

When they approached the habitat, a group of Romulans waited for them in front of the houses, which looked like boxes somewhat randomly dropped onto the ground in a line.

"Jolan tru, Khell!" a girl shouted and ran to the commander. McCoy was surprised to see the woman's face relaxed and open for once, as she hugged the kid, murmuring endearments and then an order. The girl gave McCoy a brief glance, then ran back to the group, shouting something intelligible.

"She's my sister," the commander said. "And most of the people we will meet are members of my family, forced to move to here after the actions of your friends."

"I see." McCoy stared after the girl, his breath caught in his throat. More casualties. No wonder she had only laughed about his remark. They hadn't just destroyed a Romulan commander, but a whole family. "There's nothing like clan liability in Starfleet."

"Good for you," she said coolly. "They don't know you were involved. I recommend you don't tell them either, or I could not guarantee your safety."

McCoy nodded.

Once they met the group, a little greeting orgy ensued. McCoy, recognizable as human slave, was obviously not worthy an official acknowledgement and therefore ignored. He was rather thankful for that and remained at her side as a silent shadow, using this moment to file the faces of the group members and trying to assess their medical status.

His moment of peace ended when she presented him to the group as a doctor who would try and find a cure for the illness that was spreading through the colony. Suddenly, he became a person, even though she didn't grant him his name, only referred to him as "has're", doctor. An elder Romulan woman pulled him into the main house through a little hall with tables, talking to him in a dialect his universal translator didn't want to accept. A little helpless, he looked at the commander.

"My aunt says her younger son Hreta has been ill for two days, and wants you to look after him instantly," she explained.

"Sure," he said. "Any idea why my translator doesn't manage the dialect?"

"Unfortunately, no. I will remind her of keeping to High Romulan, but the more agitated she is, the more likely she'll go back to Hreefelin."

The aunt motioned him to a dark room in the back. When the lights went on, McCoy saw two beds. On the first, there was a small body buried under a pile of blankets. On the second bed, a girl sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily upon their intrusion.

"Hello," McCoy said to her, but she only looked at him with large eyes.

"Doesn't eat. Doesn't drink," the woman said, pointing to the bed with the motionless body. "Will die if no help."

"I'll try my best," McCoy said and sat down on the bed. "Hello boy," he addressed the child softly, hoping the best for the translator. "I'm the new doctor." The boy was maybe eight years old, and his eyes were open but rather lifeless in a very pale face.

Cautiously putting his hand on the boy's forehead, he noted the high temperature, even for a Vulcanoid. He pulled out his medical tricorder and started it. The life signs were all over the place against the standard — of course, as he didn't have any Romulan basic data yet. He made a mental note to scan a few uninfected persons later.

When he felt the boy's eyes resting on the device, he turned it so that the boy could see the display.

"I'm checking your data. See, on this display you can see lots of information. There's your pulse, ping, ping, ping…" Definitely a weak, slow pulse, and slow reflexes. McCoy's brain automatically worked through the checkup list.

"Did he have any contact with the other infected persons?" he asked. He gave the boy another smile, but the child's eyes were closed again.

There was some discussion behind his back, then Khell said, "My aunt says only with Darra. She's the girl in the other bed."

"Has he vomited lately?"

"Yes. She tried to keep the fever down, and it seemed to help."

"Guess so," he nodded. "I don't have enough data yet, but she should keep on applying whatever seemed helpful to her so far. If it's a virus infection, which I'd guess from first view, she can't do much wrong. I'll get a blood sample later."

He went up and over to the girl.

"She's just a servant," the aunt said dismissively.

McCoy deeply frowned at the woman. "Either I will treat everybody or nobody," he said sharply. He met Khell's gaze, and she nodded, accepting his choice.

"Hello, girl," McCoy said as he sat down. "You're Darra?"

"Yes," the Romulan girl replied weakly. She was maybe fourteen years old, with long brown hair that hung tousled around her face.

"Since when have you been ill?" He swept the tricorder over her.

"Four days. But I'm not very ill. Not as bad as Hreta."

"You're right. Seems you're lucky so far. But stay in bed for now; I'll look after you tomorrow again."

The girl sighed. He could imagine that it was no fun being stuck in this room with a puking-sick boy and his mother, who seemed to ignore the girl.

At last he nodded towards the aunt who still sat at the bed of her son, then left the room with Khell.

"I need data of Romulans to calibrate my equipment," McCoy said. "May I scan some more of your family members?"

"I will ask them, but I consider this to be no problem. Would the hall do or do you want to use the doctor's house?"

"Here would do for now. I badly need a basic set of data, especially from the other, obviously not infected children. All else can be done tomorrow."

They sat up a little makeshift practice at one of the tables, and McCoy was allowed to scan the seven children available, two of them Khell's sisters. The elder one, Eritra, was maybe fifteen and very critical, exchanging barely a word with him. The younger one was the girl who had greeted them before the habitat. Her name was Ronah, and she was about eight Romulan years. McCoy couldn't help taking an instant liking to her.

"Are you a slave?" the girl asked, pointing at his collar.

McCoy gave a short glance at Khell before answering. "Usually not, but I was captured and brought here to save you."

"So you're going to heal us?" She looked at him with large eyes.

"If I can," he said, recording her data.

"That's nice of you," she said. "I knew Khell would find someone to help us. She is wonderful, isn't she?"

McCoy shared another eye contact with the commander. He didn't feel up to putting the girl's high opinion of her sister into perspective. "Yes, she made me an offer I couldn't deny," he murmured. "You're done. Please send the next member of your family."

After the children, he surveyed the other family members. There were mostly women; aunts, some cousins and the old grandfather. Together with a few servants and slaves, the group was eighteen people. There were two more habitats within flying distance, Khell told him, slightly larger than this one.

Once he was done, evening meal was prepared; it was frugal, but they made up by serving a tasty juice with surely enough calories for a day. The atmosphere was rather relaxed and friendly, even though McCoy's translator showed more hang-ups. He wished Uhura were here to fix the language problem.

In the end, he excused himself for some fresh air and went out of the door. He sat down on a stone in front of the main house and rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at some data on the tricorder screen, thinking about his next steps.

He looked up as she sat down on a stone nearby.

"How are they?" she asked.

"Their general health status doesn't seem too good," McCoy said. "It's not a very healthy planet to live on. Concerning the infection, I can't say yet if it's a normal infection or an illness caused by any environmental factors. It could even be something planted here."

"Planted?" she asked.

"Someone trying to kill the people here. Or they only wanted to kill your family. Would that be possible?"

She pondered the thought. "I don't think so. They're not that important, after all," she added bitterly. "My parents are long dead, and my brother remained in the fleet as simple soldier, trying to restore the honor of my family. There's no reason why anyone would need to kill them, when they are as good as dead for the Romulan society anyway."

He nodded.

"Can you heal them?" she asked.

"In medicine, we're only talking about possibilities."

"So, what are their chances? Tell me the truth."

He rubbed his cooling hands. "I'm hopeful."

She nodded and looked into the direction of the house, where Ronah's voice could be heard.

"Khell —" he said softly, speaking her name for the first time and half expecting to get punished for it. "When I heal them, will you let me go?"

She slowly turned her head towards him. "I don't make promises, doctor. Especially not to you."

"What tells you I'll heal them, in that case?"

"You would never let anyone die who could be saved. That is your weak spot. You might kill me, if you could, but you wouldn't let them die. Or you would be the one to destroy your honor."

McCoy hung his head. She knew him far too well, and he hated it. "I need more resources," he finally said.

"We will open the lab tomorrow, together with you. When you know what you need in addition, give me a list. It may take a while to get everything, but I promise my best."

He lifted his eyes to look at her. "I thought you don't make promises."

"Depends."

There was a moment of silence, then he asked, "Who were the other two kids? The ones who died already?"

"The ten year old was the son of my other aunt."

"The woman with the dark-green scarf around her neck."

"Exactly. It is a sign of mourning on Romulus. The other one lived in the second habitat."

"Did they have contact?"

"I am not sure," she said. "I doubt it, as the habitats are distant enough not to have permanent contact."

"Except the doctor's journeys."

She looked at him in sudden understanding. "Correct. I am sure we will find information on the doctor's travels and his research in the lab."

"Good." There was another question in McCoy's mind, but before he could ask for the large age difference between her and her siblings, she interrupted him and called out for Retak. "Enough questions for now, doctor." She nodded to the Romulan. "Bring the doctor on board for the night."

*

It was pitch-black in the cabin and probably in the middle of the night, but McCoy still sat on the bed wide awake. Not that he feared she'd come to see him; their relationship was undergoing a shift, but it was a dangerously thin ice they were walking on. If he made a wrong move, she would just as readily destroy him as she would've done in the past. And destroying would not mean killing, unfortunately.

His tied hands held on the chain in front of him that went from his collar to the bed frame. She had a thing for metal bonds. A force field, especially when coupled with his electrified collar, would've been enough to hold him here, but she always went for mechanical securing. He really hated chains; he just hadn't known it with such clarity before his latest adventures. They became the poster device for the bad luck that had befallen him after the Enterprise's return.

But more than the past or his current state, it was the illness that ran through his mind. Thankful for the distraction, he pondered the symptoms and the age distribution, making plans for the next days. Thinking about the infection was a beautiful and meaningful indulgence for his brain, compared to the dullness of the last weeks. It made everything in his current situation much more bearable.

Suddenly, the door opened. The light blinded him, and he blinked at the dark silhouette that stood in the frame. His blood froze when he realized it was her.

"Not sleeping, doctor?"

"Seems you don't sleep either," he answered. "Am I so important that you keep me on surveillance all night?"

"Of course. Infrared, bio signs — you name it." Her shadow stepped into the room. "What are you thinking about?"

"The illness."

"Light, forty percent." The room was suddenly bright, allowing him to see the bottle in her hand.

He raised a brow when he noted the color. "Romulan Ale?"

"Yes. I thought we could use a drink." She poured a glass and sat down on the bed next to him. He tried not to show his sudden flash of panic.

"No need to fear me," she stated and lifted the glass. "To your health is what humans say, correct?"

"Some do, yes," he said and watched her taking a deep gulp of the liquid. Then she offered him her glass. He took it in his hand, thankful that she didn't try to feed him. The alcohol burned its way all through his body. He inhaled deeply when he gave the empty glass back to her. "Thank you. It's been a while."

She went up to pour another drink. She circled it in her hand, remaining next to the small table. "I've gathered more material and will give you the PADD tomorrow when we open the lab. You will be guarded at all times; please, don't do anything stupid. This planet is in the middle of nowhere, and nobody cares about it, neither your Federation nor the Romulans. Even if you managed to set up a call, nobody will come and get you."

McCoy nodded wordlessly. She gave him the full glass, and he took it.

"Shall I keep the light on?" she asked.

"Ten percent would be great."

She changed the setting and went to the door. "Sleep well." She stepped out, the characteristic peep of the locking mechanism in her wake.

The bottle was still on the table, and it was almost full. He could binge-drink himself out of his mind. But tomorrow would be a long day and he needed his brain in the lab. With a sigh he emptied the glass, knowing that this was just the right dose to knock him out. Then he put the glass on the ground and lay down, huddling himself into the thin blanket. It was cold, but he knew from experience that this was because of the low energy level of grounded ships and not because she wanted to torture him. With a deep sigh on his lips he fell asleep.

*

On the next morning, it was Retak who freed McCoy and waited for him to take a sonic shower, offering him a small breakfast and a coffee. Then they went to the habitat.

When they opened the doctor's small house, which consisted mostly of a lab, a small bedroom, bathroom and a kitchen, they didn't find a lot of new information. After spending three hours at the Romulan computer with the help of one of Khell's cousins, McCoy decided that this doctor had probably been banned for being a charlatan. The reports were lacking many important details, which any good medic would surely have included.

"He wasn't good," the young Romulan agreed. He was nineteen, slim and tall, and partly in charge of the habitat's circuitry and computers. "But he was all the three habitats had for official medical care. Most colonies of banned don't even have one."

"Was he related to you?"

"No, even though he was living in the same village as we did."

"Did he have the same illness as the two kids?"

"It looked like it." The young man's eyes darkened. "And please, do not speak of my deceased younger brother like this. His name was Eid'n."

"I apologize," McCoy said sincerely. "The reports I had didn't give names. I'm sorry."

"He was so young. I wish…" The Romulan averted his gaze. "Promise me you will find a way to stop it."

"I can only promise that I will try my best."

"Good. I have work to do, but you can call me if you need further help with the computer." The man went up from his chair.

"Thanks, I hope it will just keep working now," McCoy said and patted the standard tricorder that was coupled to the Romulan's unit to translate the contents. Scotty would definitely love that boy.

The young man was barely out of the door when she arrived.

"How's your status, doctor?" she asked.

"Still trying to access all necessary data," he said and turned towards the screen, next to which the tricorder's display was set up. "It's quite a pain to access things written in Romulan."

"Remember, if you need anything, give me the information as soon as possible." She put her hands on his shoulders.

He clenched his teeth. "I really want to cooperate — why can't you stop doing that?"

"Maybe because I like touching you," she replied.

McCoy didn't know a good answer for that. She obviously took it as encouragement, as she proceeded to stroke his neck with her thumbs. He froze on his seat, unable to move.

Suddenly, there were steps at the door. He slightly turned his head to see Ronah.

"Aunt Irili said I should get you," this girl said seriously. "Midmeal is prepared." She remained in the door, slightly bouncing on her toes.

"Sister, why do you touch him like this?" she asked.

"Because I can," Khell replied matter-of-factly.

The girl kept bouncing, one arched brow raised in thoughts. "Do you really own him? I thought doctors are always free men."

"Sometimes, fate plays cruel tricks on us," the commander said more softly, and turned away from McCoy. "Tell my aunt we'll be there in a minute."

McCoy took a deep breath, then went up. "Don't tell her anything," he said when Ronah's steps left. "She doesn't need to know the story. Not what you did to me."

"You really like her," she said.

McCoy stared out of the window, his eyes on the back of the leaving child. "I have a daughter, back on Earth."

"Do you miss her?" she asked.

He looked away. "Haven't seen her in person for more than five years. I was divorced before I joined the service. We exchanged mails sometimes, but that's not enough to be close." He shrugged. "So she won't mind a lot if I'm dead, if that's what you're asking."

"She would mind, doctor," she said. "No matter how distant you are. You should visit her when you return."

"If I return." McCoy smiled aslope.

But she didn't take up the gauntlet, only accompanied him to the main house for a small midmeal.

*

The afternoon saw the beginning of McCoy's real work. First of all, he checked on the ill children, Hreta and Darra. He felt comfortable enough by now with the Romulan life sign signatures to give the boy a shot full of nutrients and fluids, which should stabilize his state. The girl was still relatively fine, but her fever was slightly on the rise compared to the day before. He ordered to keep her in bed too, and promised to return in the evening.

Then he retreated to his new lab, comparing a blood sample of Ronah with the ill children's blood, trying to look for divergences. The symptoms of the children resembled hemorrhagic fever, so finding a virus was plan A. If it was one, it shouldn't be too hard to isolate.

As a supporting activity, he had been allowed to send one of Khell's men for collecting environment samples. They would be screened for possible factors in the air, ground, water, and the houses of the habitats later.

The former doctor's equipment was sub-standard, and he wrote down a long list that included anything from expensive parts like a PCR, a new electron microscope and a centrifuge to things like ethanol and gloves. He gave it to her at the evening meal, as she had kept away from the lab, thankfully. The state of the infected children was stable, which relieved his most pressing concern.

He spent the night in his quarter, chained up but with a comfortable light level and a second blanket, dreaming of white, peaceful med labs for a change.

*

The next morning started with the same routine by Retak as the day before, and McCoy felt well-rested and relaxed when he went to see the children. He gave Hreta another shot of nutrients, a light standard pain-killer that should be compatible with Romulans, and a freshly synthesized antipyretic to keep the fever in check. Darra's state was unchanged and he decided to wait with further medication. He didn't have many ingredients for drug synthesis at the moment and needed to economize.

When Retak delivered him to the lab, he was surprised to find the commander next to it with a small shuttle. "You wanted to see the other two habitats," she said.

"I'm not prepared yet," he said with a frown. "I need an hour."

"I will help you." She quickly assisted him in assembling the equipment and packing the medikit, the medical tricorder and the blood sample tubes into the back. When he wanted to climb the shuttle, she stopped him.

"Put your hands in your back," she said and locked his magnetic cuffs together. "Just to ensure your cooperation." She helped him onto the co-driver's seat and took the main seat herself. Then she started the engine and left the small hangar into the direction of the Southern habitats.

"I heard your friend is inquiring your sudden disappearance," she said out of the blue.

"What friend?" he asked.

"Jim Kirk."

He didn't answer.

"He's concerned."

"Possibly," he said when he noticed she waited for him to say something.

There was silence between them for a moment, before she asked, "What happened on Earth?"

McCoy looked out of his side window. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"This wasn't a wish, but a demand, doctor, and you better answer me," she stated.

He gave her a glance, unsure if her threat was for real.

"Answer. Me." She had her left hand on the button for his electric collar. And he really didn't want to experience that pain right now. "We had a kind of fallout," he replied in defeat.

"Why?"

"He wanted to help me. I couldn't really deal with that."

"I thought he was your friend."

"Yes. He was."

"Why couldn't you accept his help?" she asked, giving him a frown. "Is it not what humans do?"

He sighed. "I thought about it… I think it was partly because I wasn't quite myself…and partly because I was frustrated. About myself."

"Yourself?"

"I…Whenever I saw him, the thought kept popping up in my mind that it wouldn't have happened to him. He would've found a way out. I felt like a loser for not even trying."

She frowned again. "I don't understand. He wouldn't have had a better chance than you had."

McCoy shook his head. "I know him. He would've found a solution. Not just have given in like I did."

"Doctor…I had a lot more tools at my disposal. Anything from brainfreezers to high voltage tasers. If you had fought me, you would have paid very dearly. It was your submission that kept me from causing you more pain. No matter what you may think of me, it is not my usual style to torture an unresisting enemy."

"Maybe it would've been easier if you had hurt me physically," McCoy said darkly. "This way, I always end up thinking that I'm…weak."

"It was your decision not to fight me."

"Yes. It doesn't make it easier, though."

"Humans are strange." She shook her head, switching some settings in the flyer. "Do you always regret your decisions?"

"Not always. Sometimes. Don't you regret to have fallen for Spock's —"

"Stop," she snapped.

"See what I mean?" he asked softly.

She looked at him with blazing eyes, fingers on the button. "Do you want to get hurt?"

"No. Even if that makes me a coward." He shifted in his seat, trying to find a new position to relieve his hurting arms.

"We'll arrive soon," she said, noticing his discomfort.

"Good. I've got a job in which I need my hands."

There was silence between them again, before she said, "There were moments when I wanted to hurt you. To hear you scream in agony. You were lucky that I changed my mind every time."

"Why the change?"

"I always got the answers I wanted. Even if you told them between the lines."

"Should that make me feel better now?"

"As I said, I can still hurt you. Like at our first evening after I bought you. Would that make you feel better?"

"It wouldn't change the past."

"No," she agreed.

He saw her looking at his thighs and held his breath as she put her hand on his leg.

"And I knew it would damage you more, what I did," she added. "It's a rather universal reaction."

"Textbook psychology," he agreed, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"But successful." She pulled away her hand to steer the shuttle around a larger mountain side. "I hadn't had a human before that. It was interesting."

"Glad you enjoyed your sexual experimentation," he said, wishing his voice didn't shake so audibly. He'd always had a lot of self-control in moments he needed it, but she was breaking through it like butter. He felt sweat running down his forehead and back, soaking the jacket and shirt where his tied arms were pressed against his body.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked.

"What?"

"Destroying any moment in which I start to feel more comfortable around you by overstepping my limits."

"Do I do that?"

"Yes. Do you fear to make friends with me?"

"No." But he could see her thinking, head slightly tilted.

"Maybe —"

"I have had enough of your analysis for the moment, doctor," she said sharply, shutting him off.

Knowing that he shouldn't push his luck too far, he tried to relax and closed his eyes, hoping for a speedy arrival.

*

The second habitat was two flight hours away. It was slightly larger in size, supporting two families with in whole thirty-five people. McCoy was allowed to take tricorder data and blood samples from the dead boy's siblings and parents, as well as from some other volunteers. They also took a few environmental probes. Nobody else had shown symptoms of the infection so far, not even the mother who had guarded her son from the first moment of his illness to his last. The boys, although of a similar age, hadn't been in contact as far as anyone knew. The reported symptoms were the same as in the doctor's report. At least something done right by that guy.

McCoy offered general medical care, but only a few members of the group needed it. They seemed well-organized and in good shape, even or maybe especially without the charlatan's work. The leader of the group, an older woman, was a crossover between a nurse and a shaman, and he was very satisfied with her work, as far as he could overview it in the brief time. She even could give him a sample of the dead boy's blood which she had taken in person shortly before his death. Of course it wasn't very fresh anymore, but it might prove helpful in his research.

*

The third habitat was in a more desolate state. Nevertheless, nobody of the twenty-one members had shown signs of the infection yet, so McCoy offered general care in return for some blood samples by volunteers. It was reluctantly accepted by the ruler of the group, a big, broad-shouldered Romulan whose name escaped McCoy; he settled with calling him the principal to himself.

Most of his work was fixing standard medical problems. There were some twisted and broken arms and legs, back problems and colds. The food quality in the habitat wasn't good. They needed vitamin and trace element supplements, but as he pointed that out to the commander, she gave him a stare that told him that this wasn't under her control.

The principal seemed to have taken his drop in rank from a ruling member to being outcast rather hard, and used his surrounding as ready outlet for his frustration. A few people showed signs of beatings, and the biggest brunt was taken by one of the younger slaves who came to see McCoy's field practice with large, bleeding wounds on her back, and many old scars. He gave first aid, then scanned her thoroughly and took a blood sample.

He looked at the results in surprise. At first glance, everything seemed to say she was Romulan; but there were divergences in the readings, little anomalies that clearly spoke of a Vulcan heritage. She was a hybrid.

There had been rumors of Romulans using Vulcans for breeding purposes, but never a proof. McCoy had dismissed the stories into the area of "urban legends". But now he reconsidered.

"Where do you come from?" he asked her.

"Come from?" She looked at him with raising brows.

"Where were you born?"

She shrugged. "I cannot remember."

"You can't or you don't want to?" he asked.

"I —"

"Stop it," someone barked from the entry, and McCoy turned his head to find the principal staring down on him, Khell in his wake. The waiting patients had moved aside for them, now trying their utmost to stay small and invisible in the background.

"Who are you that you are interrogating my slave!" the principal barked again. "I have agreed to allow your activities as a doctor, but not as a spy."

"Then let me tell you, from a doctor, that if you keep mistreating her like this, the wounds will eventually infect and, combined with her malnutrition, may eventually lead to her demise," McCoy stated sharply. "Even if she's only half-Romulan, she's still a living being."

The girl's eyes grew large.

"Out, Vo," the Romulan hissed and the girl flew. "This is not your business, nameless Terran slave," he threatened McCoy and made two steps towards him, his right hand raised. "You will pay for your insult."

Stepping into the principal's way, Khell put her hand on the man's forearm. "He's mine," she stated with authority. "I will punish him my way."

The principal snorted. "We all know that you are soft, Khell'hre. And this slave is proof of that. How dare he speak like this?"

"I'm not soft, I only have my own methods," she said in dangerously quiet voice. "Do you want to challenge me, Padok?" Her right hand lingered at the phaser in her belt. "I promise he will be punished in a way that will satisfy your honor."

For a moment, the man seemed to enjoy the idea of fighting Khell. But then he reconsidered. "I have your word for this?"

"Yes."

With a last sharp look at McCoy, he turned and left the tent.

"Keep treating the patients, doctor," she ordered McCoy with a deep frown. "But no more talking to them besides of direct medical purposes."

McCoy nodded, slightly intimidated by the scene.

The next hour passed without any unusual events, and when finally everyone had been checked, he collected his equipment and brought it to the shuttle.

She stashed it into the back behind the seats, but instead of climbing the shuttle, she ordered him to come with her. He followed her back into the center of the habitat with growing unease. She stopped in front of a metal joist that supported the roof of the central building.

"Put your arms around it," she said.

He did, his breathing accelerating as she locked the cuffs so that he was tied to the joist. The metal's rough edge pressed through his shirt into his chest. "Is this going to be my punishment?"

"Yes. It was very stupid of you to challenge Padok, doctor. Because no matter what else you are, here you are only a slave."

She opened his pants and yanked them down over his hips, then did the same with his briefs. It left his ass bare in the dark-red light of the afternoon, his naked groin tightly wedged to the metal. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see people approaching.

"I'm going to beat you," she said in a low voice. "It's the only thing that will satisfy him. And when it hurts, consider that his punishment would be twice as painful."

He clenched his teeth and clamped his hands together, awaiting the blows.

She beat him like she did everything else with him, very thoroughly and mercilessly. He was in tears by the tenth slap of something like a belt, thick but flexible enough to snap with effect. Thin as he was, the weapon's heavy impact wasn't absorbed in any way and bit painfully down to his bones. She delivered another ten, and just when he thought he couldn't bear any more, she stopped. His face was wet against the joist, and he blinked to see viewers around him, watching the scene with unmoved features.

"I will return later," she said and left him hanging on the joist.

He closed his eyes, feeling extremely sick. He fought down any more tears and the whimper that threatened to rise. He hadn't uttered a single sound through the beating, he wouldn't start now. He wouldn't give her — or the principal — that kind of victory.

He stood at the joist until sunset, his body increasingly stiff and cold. Only then she came, the smell of Romulan Ale in her breath. She pulled up his pants and closed them from behind, pressing her groin into his backside on the way. He took a ragged breath as she rolled her hips in clear gesture, and as she stroked down his sides, it wasn't the cold anymore that made him shiver.

Finally she freed him from the joint. "Hands on your back," she ordered and chained his wrists again, then brought him to the shuttle. She helped him inside and climbed in the driver's seat.

He was frozen and exhausted and wanted nothing more than something warm to drink. But he stayed quiet, noting the slur in her voice, the less than accurate movements. She was drunk. He'd never seen her drunk. But if humans were any measure for it, a drunken Romulan would be just as unpredictable.

"Why?" she asked once the shuttle had lifted from the ground.

"Why — what?" he asked back.

She pushed her fist into his upper leg. "Why did you do that? How could you challenge him like that?"

"It's who I am," McCoy said. "Once it's about my patients, I tend to forget ranks…or my own position."

"I could see that." She nodded, her hands clamped around the steering wheel. "I definitely could see that. Stupid, stupid."

"Gave you a good excuse," he whispered.

"An excuse for what?" she hissed. "If I wanted to simply beat you, I could do that any time. But it's not my style."

"Your style is a lot more brutal," he said. His words seemed to linger in the cabin, a dense fog of accusation. "Tell me about the crate," she said out of the blue. "Tell me how you felt in it."

McCoy's throat tightened. "Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know. That should be enough for you. So tell me, how did you feel?"

"Fuck off. I'm not going to give you something to take your sick pleasure in," he snapped.

The shuttle came to such an abrupt halt that he was thrown into the console head-on. He groaned in pain, disoriented trying to get back on his seat. But then the door at his side was torn open and he was dragged out. Unable to dampen his fall, he hit the ground hard. She pushed him with his back to the shuttle and clamped her hands in his jacket, shaking him.

"You're going to tell me. Now." She backslapped him with the outer side of her right hand, and it felt like being hit with a wooden bar.

He moaned, feeling the edge of his lips ripped open.

"Now." She slapped him again.

"Why do you want to know?" he pressed out. "You want to know if I felt the same way as you did?" He stared at her, surprised himself — not sure where that idea had come from, but the look in her eyes told him that it was true. She had experienced something similar at one time in her life, and that was where she had taken the inspiration from. He made a decision.

"I've never spoken about it," he whispered. "To nobody. Not about the crate. I try to forget it. I try to pretend it never happened. A lot of the time, it works. I wasn't very clear on the trip, too dehydrated. The air holes were rather small, and I could only breathe through my nose. Made me dizzy rather quickly.

"I lost track of time, but it felt endlessly long. There were brief moments of hope when I could feel the crate move…and then phases of absolute despair when I found that the movements stopped and I was still stuck in this hellhole. I thought I'd die in it. Suffocate, or just be put in a corner, somewhere, a forgotten crate…" His voice broke.

The Romulan sank down on one knee next to him, slightly releasing her grip on the jacket.

"I wish you had killed me right there. I really wish," McCoy whispered.

Her hands closed around his shoulders and dug into the muscles, very hard, very deep. Her head was bent over him, her face a valley of shadows that he couldn't read. Then she suddenly went up, lifting him up with her. She dusted off the sand from his clothes and helped him back into the shuttle.

They didn't exchange another word all through the way back.

*

On the next morning, the first thing McCoy did once he was delivered to the lab was to use the medikit on himself. Diligently he removed the swellings and bruises in his face and sealed the cut in the edge of his lips shut. Using the kit on his own backside would be more of a challenge, and after pondering it for a moment, he decided he didn't want to let his pants down — literally — and tackle it. He could live with what he felt from the welts of the beating, and maybe his subconscious would learn the lesson that he really, really, should be a bit more cautious when speaking up to any Romulans here. He'd challenged authorities all his life, but these here didn't just put a remark in his file but were ready to have his skin for it. And contrary to his statement of last night, he was currently keener on living than on dying. His existence here served a purpose, and taking the short way out would only increase the misery of others.

Shoving any other thoughts aside, he then began working on the blood samples of the day before. He barely noticed when she came to look after him, as she didn't go in farther than the door. Retak brought him a light midmeal, and he ate it hungrily, for once wishing he could get something like fries…or cheese. He sighed as he took the last bites from the watery stew. But when he asked for scalloped food, the Romulan visibly shuddered.

Alright, no gratins.

After another four long hours, McCoy tiredly rubbed his face. It was time for a break; the data columns were already blurring in front of his eyes.

"Hello doctor," Ronah said from behind.

McCoy swirled around. "Hadn't noticed you, girl. What are you doing here?"

"I have coffee for you." She went to him and placed the cup on the desk. "Hreta is not well."

"I know, I looked after him this morning on my way to the lab," McCoy said gently, and pulled the girl up to sit in his lap. "I gave him a shot, but I fear I don't have the right medicine for him."

"Yet," she stated.

"Yet," he agreed.

She pointed at the screen. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to find a virus. Since the boys didn't seem to have been in contact, I thought it may be in the environment, so I tried a cross-check between their blood samples and the samples we had taken from the air and the water."

"But you didn't find anything?" She looked at the long data rows. "It looks boring. Don't you have nice pictures in color?"

He laughed. "Well, let's see what we can do." He shifted her a little around, then pressed a few keys. "That's how it looks when seen through a bad microscope."

"A bad one?" She eyed the colorful pictures that were full of little dots, lines, balls and spots.

"Yes, didn't receive a better one yet. And I don't have a good centrifuge, which is almost deadly in this kind of research. But you can still see that some things look similar, and some don't."

She bore her gaze into the screen as if to disassemble the samples herself. "This one looks cute," she said and pointed at one. "Like a noodle."

"Yes, like a noodle. With a knot in the mid—" He stopped and stared at it open-mouthed. "You know, Ronah, I should invite more kids into my labs," he said and quickly keyed some more orders, to zoom in on the object and search for it in the other pictures.

Hit after hit alert filled the screen. "I think we got!" McCoy exclaimed. "That's got to be it. But can it be so easy…it even resembles the Earth virus I thought of…"

"Doctor?" Retak opened the door and peeked inside. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, Retak, very much so. I think I've found something." McCoy hugged the child. "Thanks a lot, Ronah. You were very helpful. But now I've got to work." He helped her down from his lap. "You're a treasure, girl." He patted her once more, then diverted his concentration to the results on screen, ignoring everything but the problem at hand.

*

When Khell herself came to accompany him to the evening meal later, he declined and asked to be allowed proceeding with his work.

"All night?" she asked.

"Yes, if possible." He pointed at the screen with his forefinger. "Look here. That's a virus similar to a family of filaviruses on Earth. They cause a similar kind of fever and hemorrhagic disorder Hreta showed this morning. It's literally everywhere on this planet. It's a wonder you aren't all dead yet. That also explains why the infection didn't seem to transmit between persons. Everyone is subjected to the threat."

"Will you be able to find a cure?"

"Hopefully a cure, and a vaccine as well. I started with trying to find a cure, as Hreta's state is rather instable already. But the vaccine should be synthesized easily."

"This sounds encouraging."

"It is, damn it is." He rubbed his hands with a broad smile. "So, I'm allowed?"

"I will think about it. For now, proceed."

She left, and returned about an hour later with some soup and a glass of juice. "Something for you to eat," she said.

"Thanks, I'll get to that later," he said absentmindedly, absorbed by his work. He woke from his flow state when a lock clicked.

"Just to prevent you from running away," she said as she rose. Around his right ankle, there was a leather cuff locked to a long chain, which was connected to the lab bench. "The chain is long enough to allow for the bathroom and the bedroom."

He took a deep breath, fighting down a frustrated breakout. "I'm working for your family here," he said finally.

"Yes. And I forced you to do this."

"At first. But once I knew what was on stake, it was also my choice." He paused for a moment, wondering if she'd understand his reasoning. "When I came back to Earth, after our three-year-mission, I didn't really know what to do with myself. But now, here, I realize that I belong back into space. I want to make a difference, not fix petty little problems on the richest planet in the quadrant."

She wordlessly looked at him.

He sighed. "I'm not going to run away. I promise."

"You think you can safely promise that because you lack the opportunity. If I told you there is a console in one of the houses with which you could call Starfleet, would you still promise it?"

He balled his hands to fists. "What are you trying to prove? That I will run when you give me the right incentive?"

"Yes." She drew close. "You have been a Starfleet officer. Don't tell me that it's standard procedure to just stay a prisoner."

"No, it's not. But I didn't meet a lot of jailers who encouraged me to run only to find a good excuse for chaining me up!"

She gently touched his arm. He acutely wished she would slap him instead. "You were Fleet. You will always be Fleet, even when you try to forget that. The chain will stay."

She left the lab, closing the door behind her. He slammed the table so hard with his right hand that he had to spend the next fifteen minutes to fix his own fingers with his medikit. Then he returned to work on the virus. For a moment, he was tempted to just throw the results away…but even if he could ignore the threats of very long nights with no sleep, or another beating, he couldn't ignore the dying boy. It was for him he was doing that, not for her.

Damn her, he muttered and bent down over his analysis, working until he fell asleep right on his chair.

*

"Doctor….doctor!" Someone shook him, and he opened his eyes with effort. It seemed to be bright, sunny morning, but for once the light had not woken him from his dreamless sleep. He found himself still in the chair, his body aching slightly after a night in this tilted position.

"You should not sleep like this," Ronah said. "It's unhealthy."

He nodded, blinking at this lively intrusion of his silent lab.

"Why are you chained to the table?" the girl asked. Children, always right to the point…how he loved that.

"I…well, you sister just wants to make sure I stay."

"Would you run away otherwise?" She raised her cute little slanted eyebrow, and he smiled sleepily.

"No, I wouldn't. Not before I found a cure."

"Did you find one?" She bent over to look at his screen.

"Unfortunately, not. Did some simulations, but somehow the results are inconsistent." He reached out and took the cup of coffee she had placed on the table.

"Why?"

"It's…too easy. If it was that easy, Hreta's body should be able to do it on its own."

"So it is bad because it works too well?" She asked, crinkling her nose.

"About that." He nodded and sipped the hot beverage.

"That is illogical."

"Maybe, yes." He put the cup away and sank back into his chair, unable to keep his eyes open. "Later, Ronah," he said and fell asleep again.

After what felt like a brief moment, he could hear the commander's voice calling out to him. When he didn't react instantly, she lightly slapped his face. But as if sleep was his last retreat, his body didn't want to wake up.

Only when he felt something cool and refreshing in his face, he was revived enough to open his eyes. He was on the floor, a soaking wet towel draped over his forehead. With effort he tried to rise.

"What did you take?" Khell snapped at him. "Did you drink? Drug yourself?

"Nothing…" His eyelids dropped again.

"Doctor!"

"Sorry…can't seem to be able... " A terrible suspicion rose in him. "Get my medikit. Get the shot no. 5 for the hypo. One full dose. Give it to me. Do it." Speaking took its toll, and he sank back to the floor in exhaustion.

He could hear her assemble the tool in the lab, then returning. She pulled his shirt up from his stomach and pressed the hypo into it.

He took a deep breath, and another one, as he slowly felt his mind clearing. "Damn…"

"The virus?" she asked.

"Must be." He scrambled up with her help, swaying when he stood. "That's strange. Doesn't only look like an Earth virus, but even seems to have an effect on me." She helped him into the bedroom and put him down on the bed.

"Did you find a cure?" she asked concerned.

"Yes — no. Not sure. Too easy…" The effect of the one shot seemed to decrease already. "Give me another shot," he whispered.

"Sure it won't kill you?"

"No. But this virus may not take a chance either."

She left him and quickly returned with another load. He sighed as he felt the liquid distributing in his body.

"Bring me my medical scanner."

When he had it in hand, he turned it with effort to scan himself. Then he looked at the data, thumbing through the various pages of results.

"Blood pressure hits the bottom. Pulse weak. Changes in the blood…must be the virus. Though it doesn't seem to cause hemorrhagic fever in me." He closed the tricorder. "Help me up."

"Really?" She raised a brow.

"Yes. It's better when I do something." She helped him back into the lab, and he noted that the ankle chain had gone for now, but didn't waste a word about it. He heavily sank down on his chair and took a blood sample of himself.

"Shall I send someone to help you?" she asked.

"Better not. Not sure if I can spread something. Might cause a mutation with my being here." Almost forgetting about her, he concentrated on the research.

"Then I will leave." She went to the door, and out of the edge of his eyes he could see her turning again, but when he didn't react, she left.

*

He spent all day in the lab, unable to drink anything but water. Giving himself an antiviral shot every two hours, he knew his body was on the edge of its endurance, but if he just lied down, there was no telling what would happen. This way, he could at least get the vaccine prepared. He was still somewhat suspicious about the obviously too easy effect it had in his simulations, but found no reason why it shouldn't work. Maybe sometimes the answer was easy.

In the evening, he asked for an animal they had taken with them from Romulus. They offered him something resembling a rabbit, and he gave the animal the first shot of the vaccine. It was the inactivated virus itself; not a completely safe method, but the quickest vaccine to produce. He could always synthesize a recombinant vaccine later. Slumped on his chair, he drifted in and out of sleep while looking at the rabbit in its makeshift cage. He woke up when he was moved. Someone carried him to the bed and carefully lay him down.

"Not good," he whispered sleepily.

"Better than your solution," Khell said and put a blanket over him.

"Need rabbit blood sample…when the alarms set off."

"Someone will take care of that."

He fell asleep and stopped caring.

*

When he woke up again, there was bright daylight outside. He was thirsty as hell and felt like run over by a Mugato. When he tried to get up, someone showed up in the door — it was the healer of habitat 2.

"Stay in bed, doctor," she said. "And good morning."

"Good morning…" He had forgotten her name, and was ashamed about it.

"My name is t'El. And yours is…"

McCoy smiled — he hadn't realized what a magic one's own name had until he had been brought to this colony where no one ever cared about it. "Leonard."

"Leonard. Sounds nice," she said. "Have some water." She gave him a cup, and he drank hastily. "Khell called me and asked for help. She was positive that your research was close to a breakthrough, but wasn't sure if you would make it."

"I'm so pumped up with antiviral stuff, my blood could walk out of the door on its own," he said.

"Good. I have taken blood samples of the rabbit and checked the antibody count. It looks as if the vaccine works. You can take a look at the results yourself later."

"Not later — now." He resolutely pulled the blanket away and sat up with trembling legs.

The Romulan sighed, but helped him up. They went into the lab together, where he sat down on his preferred chair and looked at her results. Indeed…there were antibodies, lots of them. He drew his forefinger over his lower lip in thoughts.

"There's something I don't understand," he said slowly. "If the virus is just everywhere around here, why did only four people — four children — have an outbreak? The ratio just isn't right."

"Maybe their immune system was damaged by something else."

"Exactly. But I don't know by what. They are here since 2.5 years, and there was no infection all the time, only now. Something just doesn't ring right."

"You don't have any data about the children's status before they became ill," t'El said reasonably.

"True," McCoy admitted. "I don't have enough data to formulate a good theory. But I've got that gut feeling I'm overlooking something."

"Well, I have examined most of your work so far, and if you lost sight of something, I did so too. Everything seems well-founded and conclusive," t'El said.

"Thank you." He bowed his head.

"So I suggest we prepare more portions of the vaccine now."

He agreed, and they started working together, using the new chemicals the commander had delivered in the early morning. McCoy enjoyed the collaboration with the healer immensely, because t'El was simply treating him like a colleague. She told him some amusing stories from her past in the Romulan health system, and he repaid by sharing some of his own experiences. He hadn't laughed so hard in a long time, his own illness almost forgotten until she suggested he should take a shot of his medicine and eat something.

However, he couldn't really stand yet another watery soup Retak brought over from the main house, and resigned to bread and coffee. Unwilling to make a longer break in his work, he sat down in front of his screen and stared at the colorful monitoring curves of the vaccine production process.

"t'El —" he said suddenly and turned around. "I think before we distribute the vaccine, we should take new blood samples from everyone."

"Why?"

"Because I have a few from Ronah, and in the last one the virus concentration is markedly increased. In this state, we shouldn't vaccinate her with the inactive virus. It's too dangerous and could lead to an immediate outbreak."

t'El knitted her brows in concern. "But if we cannot vaccinate her…"

"I know," he said sadly. "I'm going to work on the cure as soon as the vaccine is done. Doesn't help if we stop that process now. We don't have the machines to do both at the same time."

"Agreed." The Romulan got up and walked over to the cabinet. "I'm going to get the blood samples," she said and took the necessary tubes.

"Thank you."

When she returned from her tour, half of the necessary vaccine was prepared. While the next portion was synthesized, they sat down together and screened the new samples; one of the adults and two of the children had virus levels that were too high for vaccination — one of them Ronah.

Frustrated, McCoy checked her sample again, but of course the data didn't change.

"Most samples are fine, Leonard," t'El said, his current voice of reason. "Take a break. Please."

He gave in and went to bed. She woke him for the evening meal, and they took the vaccine doses with them to the main house, lining them up at a table at the side of the room.

"The cure?" Khell asked, eyes widening.

"Only a vaccine, unfortunately," McCoy said. "I'm still working on the cure. But we have prepared enough to give shots to you all. If it works like it should, there will be no new outbreaks."

Everyone congratulated him and t'El, who kept in the background, saying it wasn't her doing.

When McCoy had a free minute, he pulled Khell aside.

"There's a problem," he said quietly. "Three people can't get vaccinated. Your grandfather, your cousin Timmo — and Ronah. The virus concentration in their blood is too high. It's too risky and could lead to an immediate outbreak."

"Ronah?" she repeated, her face cut in stone.

"Yes. I'm very sorry. I'm still working on the cure and am hopeful I'll find it soon."

Her eyes drifted to the group in the hall. "I believe you. I know how much you like her."

"But Eritra's virus concentration is rather low. I can give her a shot."

"Good." She nodded, clapping his shoulder. "Let's go and eat something. You can use it."

After the meal, McCoy and t'El administered the shots, then t'El brought him back to the bed next to the lab.

"Sleep, Leonard. I will prepare more of the vaccine for you."

McCoy tried to fight her, but was suddenly too weak to say another word. Felled by the aftermath of his own infection, he sank into a deep sleep.

*

Some hours later, t'El woke him to say goodbye in the middle of the night. She took the necessary doses of the vaccine for habitat 2 with her, but agreed to wait for his blood sample check within the next days before administering it to anyone.

"Thanks for your great help," he said sleepily.

"It has been my pleasure, Leonard," she replied. "Good luck with finding the cure. See you soon."

Unable to return to sleep, he went up and to the lab, working rather undisturbed until the next evening. But when McCoy wanted to join the general evening meal, he was stopped by Retak and brought to the ship instead, where he was led to Khell's quarters. He hadn't been in them since the morning after his terrible first day under her control, and his hands were sweaty when he stepped inside. The table was set for two, again, but this time she was already seated, pointing at the chair opposite to her. The glasses were filled with a blue liquid, probably Ale.

"Take a seat." He wordlessly sat down.

"I am very pleased with your results so far."

"Thank you. They are very encouraging indeed," he replied.

She nodded. "You proceeded faster than expected. And t'El has a high opinion of your work. So let us raise our glasses to your impeding success," she said and lifted hers. "To your health."

"To yours," he said and took a gulp. Like always, it burned first down the throat and then, like a flare, through all of his body up to his fingertips and toes. He took a deep breath.

"We will have our evening meal together," she said. "I overheard you asking for a special food. It is a revolting idea for us to melt this milk product on anything, but for you I had it prepared anyway."

Retak carried two plates into the room. On McCoy's, there was a grating of vegetables, meat and browned, molten cheese on top. From what he could see, hers was without cheese.

"I prefer a more Romulan version. Enjoy your meal," she said, waving her hand.

He hesitated for a second, but then his hunger and deep-down craving for the wonderfully smelling food in front of him won out. He took his fork and gave in to the temptation, heartily addressing the dish. Considering that it was a strange version of cheese — if any real at all, he'd rather not ask where she got it from — it tasted much like the original. Together with the meat and vegetables, it was a portion that left him without wanting more. Moving the empty plate aside, he patted his stomach with a happy sigh. He saw her watching him, but in this satiated moment, he was too relaxed to care. He took his glass, sipping from it.

"I really like Romulan Ale," he said and circled the glass in his hand, watching the blue liquid climbing the walls.

"I was told it's forbidden in Federation space," she said.

He shrugged. "When you're sailing through space, you can get your hands on it quite easily." In relief, he noted that she was very slow in drinking this evening, her glass barely touched.

"Yes," she agreed. "So you like breaking the rules?"

His relaxation instantly diminished, and he cursed himself for letting his guards down around her. Soon, she'd be all in his space again, stepping over his limits as if he were nothing…just to prove it to herself. It was like a circle, and he should know it by now.

"Usually not," he forced out of his suddenly dry lips.

"I'd say you do. You're one of those men who would break them if they think they are inappropriate…useless…without consideration…or harmful."

He stared at her over the table. "I —" He was at loss; there was some truth in her analysis, thinking back at some situations where he had bent the rules. But he usually did so for others; the idea of smuggling some forbidden beverage onboard the Enterprise had never felt like a big thing. Hell, Jim himself had had more than a glass from a special bottle, but that wasn't something McCoy would tell his inquisitor now.

"Maybe," he relented. If it made her happy to think that of him, so be it.

She shook her head, a smile in the corner of her mouth. "You give in too easily, doctor. Where are your arguments, your defense?" "Would it make you change your mind if I argued your point?" He felt like a mouse being toyed with by the cat.

"Maybe," she said. "At least we could try to have some interesting conversation. Simply sitting around and waiting for solutions from others can get very boring." She leaned back in her chair and pushed some strands of hair behind her right ear.

"Hadn't thought about how hard your life must be," slipped out of his mouth, dripping with irony. He could see a deep frown layer her features like a curtain being pulled down. So much for accusing her of constantly renewing the distance between them.

"I thought things had changed between us, doctor," she stated coolly. "Maybe I was mistaken."

"Maybe they would if you set me free," he snapped. "And treat me like a real person and address me by my name for once." Slightly surprised himself about his burst, he held his breath, expecting her to push the collar's button. But she only called Retak. "Bring him to his quarter," she ordered.

"Shit," he murmured under his breath when Retak led him through the ship. He sat down on the bed and let the Romulan chain his collar to the bedpost like every night, then lock the cuffs in front of him. Lamb to the slaughter, he thought as the lights went out completely.

McCoy was sick of himself. If he hated her so much, he should do something about it. As it was now, he was simply ducking her every move by giving in and submitting to her. He was the mouse, and kept being the mouse. With a frustrated groan, he pulled at the chain with all his might, but it didn't yield. And although he knew he was probably on her screen, nobody came to inquire. He was stuck, and it drove him nuts. The dark drove him nuts. The chains drove him nuts. He was so sick of it all. Sick, sick, sick…

With that mantra in mind, he slipped into an ale-drugged nightmare in which she led him through endless corridors, along rows and rows of faceless people who pointed their fingers at him and shouted obscenities.

*

She kept away from him the next day. Retak was overtaking everything, including flying him to the other two habitats again with the vaccine in his luggage. The Romulan chained McCoy's wrists behind his back for the journey too, but was otherwise a calm, neutral presence. McCoy had really come to cherish the man, because, while he clearly saw McCoy as his job only, he never humiliated him in any way, at least not intentionally. And when they had to stop on their way for relieving themselves into some bushes, Retak was considerate enough to unchain him and look the other way for a moment. Privacy was a rare good for McCoy, and he was grateful for it.

In the second habitat, they were greeted by t'El. After McCoy had taken and checked a new round of blood samples, all but three children could be vaccinated. There was nothing else to do for them, and after a generous midmeal they left in the good feeling that habitat 2 would keep on prospering under t'El's guidance.

The third habitat was different. The mere memory of his first trip made McCoy tense and nervous about what he would see this time, and as if to prove his darkest fears, they arrived at the main circle to find another being tied to the joist. When they passed it, he realized that it was the girl that had caused his fallout with Padok. Her backside was free and bleeding. She was tied with her arms around the column and another rope was around her legs to keep her from sinking down. From her whimpers and the way her head fell, it didn't look good.

Almost involuntarily he drew towards her, but Retak took him by his arm. "You cannot change anything," he said softly and steered McCoy into the building where the makeshift practice was situated this time, arranged by Padok's representative. Retak helped him get the equipment up and oversaw his work, obviously briefed by Khell that McCoy wasn't to be let unguarded in this habitat.

The girl's whimpers were carried in from outside with every new patient that stepped into the room, and weighted on McCoy heavier with every second. But there was nothing he could do, and finally he tuned it out, as he had learned in other painful moments in his professional life. Sometimes, there was just nothing else left to do. Brutal but true.

It was already midday when the last few patients appeared. A young boy stepped into the room, and with the steps, McCoy found there was something missing — the whimper outside had died.

Well, maybe the principal had decided it was enough suffering, McCoy thought darkly and looked after the boy, who had a gnashing head wound. McCoy didn't ask what or who had caused it, and the boy didn't deliver any information either. Retak stood behind them, silently watching over them. McCoy gave the boy a vaccine shot and sent him his way.

This habitat was a doomed, gloomy place to be, McCoy thought as the last patient left, and he looked forward to leaving it as soon as possible. "Let's get the equipment and fly away."

It was in this moment that the door opened and the principal stepped in, a body in his arms. He unceremoniously dropped it on McCoy's table. "See after her," he barked, keeping his position at the table while McCoy hastened to comply. The tricorder slightly trembled in his fingers as he checked the girl's data, twice, just to make sure. Then he shook his head. "She's dead."

"Well, no loss." The principal laughed darkly. "That's what happens to disobedient slaves." He gave McCoy a look that spoke volumes about the punishment he would have wanted to deliver, instead of the weak one by Khell.

From the corner of his eyes, McCoy could see Retak stretching a little. McCoy lowered his head, not daring to say a word. A menacing silence filled the room until the principal, not finding a ready target for more threats, nodded and said, "I see you're done. Leave and don't ever come back." Then he turned, leaving the dead girl on the table.

McCoy took a deep breath when the door closed behind him. Wordlessly, Retak started packing. When the equipment was boxed, they quickly left for the shuttle, both relieved when they were up in the air and on their way home.

*

After one day lost by traveling around, McCoy spent the next night and morning frantically working on a cure for the virus. However, the solution kept out of his reach. The cure seemed to work well on fresh virus colonies, but barely on the blood samples. Something seemed to inhibit it, but he couldn't find the culprit yet. His overall mood was dark, with the events of the last days bearing him down after a night of no sleep, and his failures only added to his depression. It didn't help that with his every move, the chain at his ankle seemed to click a little more loudly, reminding him of his situation.

Damn her.

She visited him at noon, bringing some bread and a glass of juice.

"I heard about the girl at habitat 3. I'm sorry for her," she said as she put her delivery on the table. He knew it was her way of signaling a truce, but he wasn't willing to accept the offer.

"I doubt that," he said, barely looking up from his work. "She was just a slave; why would anyone of you care."

She turned him around on his shoulder. "We're not all like Padok," she said.

He faced her. "You mean, your aunt who ignores Darra is much better?"

She frowned. "There's a big difference —"

"- between not caring and actively hurting?" he stated sharply. "I don't see that."

"You would know the difference if I had allowed him to deliver your punishment."

"I forgot that caring felt like twenty lashes," he quipped.

She stared down on him. "Why this outbreak, doctor?"

"Maybe I'm just not in the mood for pretending today."

"I rather think you are ready to take a break," she stated. "Come with me."

"Not now. I've got a job to do." He looked at the screen, wishing she would leave him alone. "And I tell you how." She roughly pulled him up by his left arm and pushed him into the bedroom, where she locked the ankle chain to one of the bed posts. Then she threw the blanket into his arms.

"Sleep. I'll wake you up later."

Helplessly, he watched her leaving. Then an incredible anger rose in him, a flaring, white, burning anger that kept him wide awake and for the first time ever wallowing in daydreams of killing her.

*

When she returned a few hours later, he managed to appear rested enough so that she let him get back to his work. But actually there was only one thing he wanted…to get out of this situation, no matter the costs.

There was the hypo lying on top of the table, and he stared at it. It was his weapon of choice, and the right mixture was already waiting in a drawer, a special medicine that would knock any Romulan into obedience. Which would be a nice change for once.

He got it out of the drawer, shaking the purple mix in his hands in thoughts. Then he took the hypo and loaded it. He placed it on the table again — even if he didn't use it, it was like a symbol of his independence of mind. For being still himself, and not just...

He swallowed the thought and resumed working, the hypo always at arm's length. But success escaped him, again. His fingers shaking, he botched two tests in a row and didn't care. There was only one thing on his mind — he wanted to have her under his control for once, to be the one on top. It was all he could think about right now. A headache was growing, a tension spreading all over his body as the evening approached, his work an increasing chaos.

When he heard her finally approaching, he held his breath. He'd recognize her steps everywhere. Totally regular. Never missing a beat until she reached the spot she wanted to reach. Which was once again right behind him.

"Everything alright?" he heard her voice. Her warm hand on his shoulder felt like scorching his body.

"Yes. Fine." He pointed at a vague dot on the screen, knowing it would bring her head closer to it. With his other hand, he took the hypo as if to put it aside to make room for her. He hoped she wouldn't see how his hand was trembling.

"This little bastard should do the trick soon," he said. "I only have problems to synthesize it in a larger scale." He went up from his seat when she was next to him and, using the surprise effect to his best advantage, gave her a karate chop, then applied the hypo. She sank down on one knee as a third of the load rushed into her blood.

He held the hypo tightly against her neck, his other hand in a doctor's grip on her right arm to keep her away from the button for his collar.

She laughed, which caused a surge of anger in him. "Didn't know you had it in you, doctor. What do you want to do?"

"I want your ship," he stated.

"It would take a while to get ready."

"I'm used to waiting."

"You won't make it, you know." She was really amused, and McCoy wondered if it was a side effect of the drug.

"Maybe, but I thought I'd give it a try for once." His finger tightened on the hypo's release button. "When I give you the second shot, you'll do everything I want."

"And that would make you happy?" she asked. "Would you tie me up and rape me?"

"Shut up," he pressed out, pushing the hypo harder into her neck.

It was in that moment that Ronah's voice could be heard outside, lively and animated.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Remove the hypo and we'll forget this scene," Khell whispered. "Or do you want to harm her? She'll instantly know that something's wrong." The girl's voice approached the lab. McCoy could literally hear her dance.

He had been so close, so damn close.

With a muttered cussword he pulled back the hypo and released his hold. She sank down on both knees as the door opened.

"Hello, Ronah —" McCoy said, but before the name had left his lips, he was hit by something that felt like a sledgehammer. He whirled through the lab and crashed into a stool, seeing stars. Strong hands were on him in the blink of the eye and pulled him around for another brutal punch, before a final kick knocked all air out of his lungs, leaving him battered on the floor.

"Enough, Oudu!" he heard Khell exclaim through his haze of pain.

"Don't tell me that he didn't threaten you. I saw it through the window."

McCoy's gaze slowly cleared enough to look at the new arrival. His attacker was a Romulan in military attire, maybe in his mid-twenties, very tall and very angry. A rather star-truck Ronah stood in the door, watching the scene in silence.

"Brother," Khell said, and embraced the man. "I'm delighted to see you. We didn't expect you before the new moon." She kept a hold on his arms as she added, "The doctor and I were only playing."

"Playing?" the young man repeated in disbelief, shedding a hateful gaze at the human on the ground.

"Nothing I didn't have under control," she said. "Let's go to the main house. There is much to talk about." With a last warning gaze to McCoy, she pulled her brother out of the room. And only when they had left, he had the nerve to pick himself up from the floor, arms clamped around his hurting chest and the taste of blood in his mouth. Five minutes later, Retak came into the lab and oversaw the cleaning process before he brought McCoy to the ship to chain him up for the night.

*

The family was happy to see Oudu, and news were shared, about his career and the development with the human doctor Khell had brought. Oudu's features drew into a deep frown over the reports. After the first rush of talk and the evening meal, he pulled Khell into a quiet corner.

"There's something strange here," he said. "From what everyone told me, he sounds like the most obedient and peaceful man in the universe. Which doesn't fit to the scene in the lab."

"He had a really bad day," she replied. "I already knew that in the morning, but didn't realize he was so out of his mind. He never tried anything like that before. The situation was always under my control. I even laughed in his face. One move by me, and he would've been done."

"What makes you so sure about him?"

"This." She pointed at the device at her belt.

"That's all? Ridiculous." He paced up and down. "Where did you get him?"

"I sent word around that I needed a doctor. We bought him from a slaver's ship a week ago."

"Who is he?"

"A doctor, from earth."

"Again, why do you trust him enough to let him do this research? How do you know he wouldn't deceive you?"

"I know his code of honor. And he was Starfleet." Khell leaned against a nearby door frame, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Starfleet! It gets worse by the minute. Bringing the enemy to our colony." Oudu stopped in his pacing. "You knew him before."

"Yes," Khell admitted.

"He's one of them," he said slowly. "One from the Enterprise."

"Yes."

"I see..." Oudu whispered. "Who was he?"

"He was the ship's doctor."

"An officer?"

"The third highest ranking officer. But he hadn't known the plans of the Vulcan traitor."

"He told you so," Oudu said bitterly. "Since when do you believe a Starfleet coward?"

"Since he told me so in an interrogation, when I had him in my hold two months ago. And he's no coward."

"You had him and let him go again? Why?" The young man paced again. "You should have killed him and sent his body to Romulus."

"Would they have cared?" she asked. "Even if I had killed Spock himself, it would never be enough for them to restore the house honor. I am as good as dead. But our sisters live, and I can try to make their future better by fighting this illness. And for this, we need McCoy."

Oudu balled his fists. "When he is done...will you let me kill him?"

She didn't answer him.

"Did you promise to let him go?"

"I didn't promise him anything, and I won't promise you anything either," she stated.

"Then give him to me," he demanded. "You cannot think of sending him back, now that he knows about this planet and our family."

She brushed through her hair, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion running through her veins. "Let us talk about this when the illness is defeated."

He lowered his hands, palms spread. "Agreed. When he is finished, we will talk about it again. But you know my wishes now. I expect you to accept them, for our honor and all of Romulus."

He rushed out of the door. She sat down on a nearby chair, feeling the weight of the last years and their losses in every bone.

*

When she joined him in the lab the next morning, McCoy took great care to demonstrate that he had no hypo anywhere. But she, in contrast, didn't seem to care at all. Without hesitation she approached him and took his face in her hands, turning it left and right. "Sorry for the damage." Her thumb rubbed over swollen flesh. He cursed himself for not having had the time to remove the traces yet.

"Pays me right for trying a stunt," he said with a shrug, wishing she'd get her hands off him. "Seems I was a little out of my mind yesterday, from acute sleep deprivation and low blood sugar."

"It was unexpected." She kept stroking his cut lower lip. "It was interesting to see the warrior in you. But don't try again, or the consequences may be worse than you can imagine." At last she moved away from him, and he took a deep breath.

"My brother knows who you are," she said softly.

"And that means...?" McCoy asked.

"For the time being, nothing. But he is eager to revenge the honor of the family."

McCoy felt a coldness spreading in his body. "He wants to kill me, once I'm done."

"Yes." She leaned at the table next to him.

"Not to your taste? Do you really consider letting me go?" he asked with a raised brow.

"I am undecided. But when your research is close to its end, tell me as soon as possible — or the decision of your fate may not be mine any longer."

"I understand."

"You should also try to avoid being alone with him."

McCoy nodded. "If I can help it."

"How far are you with the cure?" she asked.

"Still working on it. I have seen to the children this morning, and their status seems to be stable. Gave them more nutrients and Hreta another shot for the fever."

"Good." She walked to the door, then looked back at the threshold. "A question — would you have been able to fly the ship?"

"Maybe. It's been a while since I've had a lesson." He smiled crookedly.

"You are strange," she said, shaking her head, and left.

*

McCoy didn't attend the midmeal, but his attempt to keep away from the main house for much longer was doomed. It was Ronah who spoiled it, because she watched him when he passed its door on the way to the ship, and instantly came to get him.

"Come inside — it's my birthday!" She took his hand and pulled him inside. Retak only shrugged and followed them.

"Happy birthday to you, Ronah. But that's not a good idea, girl," McCoy said. He gave a nervous glance to the assembled group, their attitude towards him obviously unchanged in comparison to the last days. But when he rotated around to leave the house again, Oudu was behind him.

"Why don't you come inside, human," the young Romulan snarled and pushed him with force. McCoy tumbled into the room. "I think everyone should know who you are."

McCoy held his breath as he could see everyone turning their focus on him.

"That you are a Starfleet officer. A colleague of the notorious Captain Kirk and the Vulcan saboteur Spock, in whose plot you were involved. That we were banned also because of you!"

"Oudu!" Khell walked around the table.

"Khell always knew and didn't tell you," he stated, facing his family members. "Instead, she deceived you, pretending he was just someone she bought from a slaver."

"I did buy him from a slaver," she said coolly. "And no matter who he is, he's also the doctor I brought to save the family."

"You not only let him sit in the lab, but pampered him, invited him in here to join our meals when he should rather eat our rubbish and sleep in the dirt, where he belongs."

That was the point at which an agitated debate started, in that dialect that made McCoy's translator jolt and largely go offline.

"Get out of here and wait for me outside," Khell hissed at him. He almost expected her brother to prevent that, but the Romulan was busy discussing with his aunt who obviously had something against him threatening the doctor that could save her son's life.

McCoy hurried out and, not knowing what else to do, sat down on the next stone and put his head on his palms. He stared onto the ground in thoughts when a shadow fell over him.

He looked up to meet Ronah's eyes.

"Is Oudu right? You are the reason why we are stranded here?" the girl said bitterly.

McCoy slowly nodded. "My friends were. My commanding officers. I was on their starship, and it was their mission."

"And I thought you were my friend."

McCoy sighed. "I am your friend, Ronah. But I am their friend too. Sometimes people will do bad things to each other. Especially on a mission. They had their orders. Khell had hers. But they never wanted to take her. It was Khell's mistake that she ended on our ship."

"No." The girl shook her head. "I can't believe that." The girl ran away into the hills, her sobbing lingering in the air long after she was out of sight.

McCoy helplessly looked after her.

Suddenly, someone called for him from the main house. He went back to it.

"What's the matter?" he asked when he saw Khell's serious face.

"It's Hreta," she said. "He vomits blood."

"Damn," he muttered. "I need to get my equipment." He ran to the lab and took his medikit and tricorder. Then he stared at the first results of a serum. It hadn't proved its effectiveness yet, but it was the best he had right now. He took the tube with him.

The boy lay on the bed like dead, blood flowing out of his mouth. His mother was holding his hand, making room for McCoy as he rushed in. He checked the boy's status, and was shocked to see the readings: severe inner bleedings. The boy's face was dark green, his pulse almost inexistent on the burningly hot wrist.

"I can't do anything with my normal equipment. The only thing I can try is the serum I worked on. The possible antidote for the virus, but I don't know if it is effective. No guarantees." He looked at the mother and Khell, who stood behind her.

"What other chance does he have?"

"None," McCoy said.

"Do it," Khell replied. The women watched as he quickly loaded the hypo and administered it to the thin body. McCoy dialed at his tricorder, trying to get the best measure of possible efforts. But the life signs weren't promising. Helplessly, he had to watch the decline of all readings until they hit the baseline and the boy died with a last ragged breath. McCoy briefly closed his eyes and sank back on his heels. He had lost. Just as feared, the serum wasn't ready yet. Another two days, maybe, and he could've saved the boy. Around him, some of the family members buried their faces in their hands.

"That's what you get when you think you will get healed from this Terran scum," Oudu shouted into the group from the door. "Do you really think he'll save you? It's more likely he acted in bad faith to kill Hreta."

McCoy slowly went up and turned around. He could feel the eyes of the mourners resting on him, weighing Oudu's accusations.

"Just wait and he'll poison you all —"

"Stop it!" McCoy stated sharply, with all the authority he could muster. He surveyed the group, making eye contact. "I was on the Starfleet ship that caused your banishment, correct. I was the chief medical officer. It was my job to look after the health of more than four hundred beings of various species, and I got this job because I'm one of the best."

He met the eyes of the aunt who had just lost her son. "I would never harm a patient. I swore an oath, and I will always keep it. And least of all, I could kill a child. I put a lot of work into the research, and I'm hopeful to find a cure for this illness. But I warned you that the serum wasn't ready yet. I wish it had been. But it wasn't. I'm a doctor, not a magician."

His eyes moved on to the old man, whose bushy white brows always rested on him in mistrust. "So…you have two options now. You can let me finish the research, which will likely result in a cure. Or you can just execute me here and now and then wait for more children to die. It's your choice." At last, he looked Oudu straight in the eye. "Make up your mind. I'll wait for your decision outside."

He walked out of the door, and nobody held him back.

Outside, he sat down on the already familiar stone and folded his legs. For a while, all was silent, only the local equivalent of cicadas sending their calls into the night. Finally, Khell stepped out of the house.

"Impressive, doctor," she said. "For the first time, I could really see the CMO in you."

He looked at her in silence.

"You can go on with your work. Find a cure."

"Thank you."

"Thank yourself." For a moment, she wistfully looked up at the few stars that could be seen in the sky. "Do you want stay in the lab or onboard?" she then asked.

"Lab would be fine."

They walked over together, and she locked the long chain to his ankle for the night. He spent another four hours on research, before sleep caught up with him, and he crawled into his bed.

*

The next morning found McCoy rather early at his lab bench again. The new test series had been more effective, and he was positive that the cure would be only a few days away. For once not a promising prospect, given that Oudu was hungrily waiting to execute him. He wasn't quite sure what Khell's opinion was, and not sure either if he would prefer a continued life in her slavery over a quick death.

But considering the group's predominant repudiation of him at the moment, it was interesting how much she always trusted him, not even placing a guard at his side in the lab. She trusted him not to fuck up the results, or poison everyone. She knew he was too…no, not weak, but too much of a doctor to harm anyone. It was much easier to let himself get harmed. So much easier.

If there were a treatment for his self-sacrificing streak, this would be the time for it, he thought with a sigh.

He stared at the little fertilizer unit in which the bacteria were busily breeding the agent that should to the trick. There wasn't much to do for him but waiting and taking a sample every other hour. He shifted around on the stool, suddenly realizing that he was aroused, for the first time in weeks. Strange that it should happen here and now. He slid back and forth over the stool some more, letting the pants' seam rub against his balls. It felt good, very good. After shedding a gaze at the door, he placed his right hand on his groin and stimulated his erection through the material. It grew under his fingers and soon arched against the fabric, forming a bulge next to the zipper. Spreading his legs, he started rolling his hips.

"Nice show," he heard her voice from the door. He instantly stilled and dropped his hands.

"No, don't stop," she said.

"Please…" he whispered.

"I'd like to see it. And I think it's easier for you when I watch your hands, instead of using my own," she stated. How did she manage to sound always so matter-of-factly when she brought him down?

"I'll make it easier for you." She pressed the button for his collar, and he gasped. But it wasn't the shell-shocking pain of the past, more a reminder of its potential.

"This is the lowest setting. But I can always raise it, if you think you need more incentive." She pushed another button, and his hands drew together in front of him. Not even in this moment she wanted to let him forget his situation.

Or maybe she really made it easier for him to do what he felt like anyway. He couldn't really sort it out right now.

"Kneel down on the ground. Open your pants and proceed." She remained in the doorframe, arms crossed.

He took a deep breath, then slipped down from his stool. He opened his fly and got his genitals out with shaking fingers before kneeling down. The erection stood perfectly straight, as if he was having the time of his life.

Well, maybe it was the last time anyway. So he'd better enjoy it.

Slowly he stroked himself with his right hand, trying to keep the left one out of the way. He would've loved to close his eyes, but knew her better than to try. Actually they knew a lot about each other by now, and he lazily wondered how things could've evolved, had they met at another time and place and not…

Forget about it. It's only the present that counts, he chided himself as his erection faltered over the memories. Somewhat relieved that it still weren't the abusive pictures that turned him on, he concentrated on his member alone, on every touch, every texture, attempting to dispel any other pictures in his mind. His breathing became faster as the stimulation worked, and his hand picked up speed. He was panting and very close to coming when Oudu suddenly bolted through the door.

McCoy froze. The young Romulan eyed the scene and was visibly confused, his eyes darting between his sister and the human on the ground.

"You have chosen the wrong moment," she said coolly.

"Sorry, didn't know you were having fun with him," he retorted, eyeing McCoy's groin with disgust. "If he were my prisoner, I would've cut it all off."

"But he's not," she said. "And I found that men are best controlled using their dicks against them."

He snorted.

In a sudden move, she left her position at the door and stepped right in front of McCoy.

"Don't stop," she ordered, a warning in her voice, and he complied, forcing his hand to resume the stroking. The erection had faltered over the initial shock of seeing the young Romulan, but quickly returned to its former size. She put her leg in front of him, her left boot's tip beneath his balls that hang out of the stall. She touched them softly with the boot, adding a light pressure to the sack.

He was losing it; he didn't know anymore if he wanted it or not, or what he should feel, by all rights. He tilted his head in his neck and closed his eyes, unable to keep them open in this moment of breaking pleasure. He came with a deep groan and yanked his dick, milking it for as long as possible. When he opened his eyes again, he looked down, taking in the white slurs of sperm all over his hands, pants and her boot.

She pulled her foot back and put it down in a little distance. "Lick it."

Without thinking, he sank forward and licked the boot clean. It was when he was almost done that he noted that Oudu had watched it all, because he heard his steps leaving.

"Enough," she said. "Well done," she added and patted his head. He sank back on his heels, slowly noting the whole mess that was his face and pants, and the pain from the cuff of the ankle chain that had deeply pressed into his upper thigh. And most of all, what exactly he had just done…

Something white was waved in front of his eyes, and it took him a moment to process that she offered him a towel.

"Clean yourself," she said.

He wiped his face first, then his hands. There was little help for his pants, but as they were sand-colored, the spots weren't as visible as they would have been on black fabric. She unlocked his handcuffs.

"I suggest you proceed with your work. Or your bacteria culture may fail."

He nodded, too dazed for a good reply. When she was gone, he buried his face in a clean corner of the towel, trying in vain to sort out his feelings.

*

It was clear to McCoy that this wouldn't be the last of Oudu today, and so he wasn't surprised when the young Romulan showed up again in the afternoon.

"So that's the reason why she's pampering you like this," the man said cruelly. "You're her plaything."

"Guess so," McCoy said quietly. Actually, he wasn't very sure himself today what exactly he was to her.

"What did she do to you, human, that you obey her like that?"

"Ask her," McCoy replied, feeling his blood leaving his face.

"I did — she only smiled."

McCoy remained quiet.

"Maybe for now you are under her protection, but this is a family business," the Romulan snapped, coming very close. "A question of honor. It's not for her alone to decide your fate.

"My ship once made a prisoner, a Starfleet officer who was too gutless to commit suicide," the man added in a low voice. "We blinded him and tied him to our restrooms, using his toothless mouth for our relief. It took him four days to die."

McCoy didn't move a muscle, only whispered, "Get away from me."

"For now, I'll do." Oudu took a step back. "But remember my words."

"I'll do," McCoy said when he heard the door closing behind the man. "I'll do."

*

She joined him in the lab a short time later.

"Don't let yourself get threatened by him," she said.

"I don't. There's only one person I really fear." He looked at her. "But thanks for not telling him the whole story."

"He's a man," she said nonchalantly. "I doubt he would really want to know how easy it is for a woman to use the same tool as men did for millennia…rape." Suddenly thrown much deeper into his emotional turmoil, McCoy tried to avert her gaze. But her fingers on his chin guided his head around, forcing him to face her.

"Isn't it thought to be therapeutic to say the word?" she asked, searching his eyes. "To speak about it?"

"That's what I'd tell my patients," McCoy whispered, trying to control the light tremor that ran through his body.

"But maybe we both liked it a little more than we would ever want to admit," she said, caressing his cheek. "Did we?"

He froze, his innards turning into solid ice over the memories her words conjured. "No."

"But you liked what we did this morning."

He was breathing hard by now, staring into her eyes liked hypnotized.

"Did you like it?" she asked again.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "I really don't know."

"I see." She turned and left.

He sunk into his chair and buried his face in his hands for a long time.

*

McCoy didn't come to the evening meal although she had told him to, but Khell decided to ignore his disobedience for tonight. Contrary to the impression she might have given him, she wasn't sure either if she had liked the scene in the morning. A pity that he interpreted even her honest questions always as an attack…or a pitfall.

The vibes in the hall were subdued, only Oudu speaking rapidly to other family members, debating his point of executing the human as soon as possible. Khell was fond of her brother, but this wasn't helpful, and she stopped him by invoking the head of house right to end any family discussion. She knew that she insulted him this way, as he was of the opinion that they both were leading the house, but she was annoyed and not really caring if he was annoyed too. McCoy's fate was weighting more heavily on her than it should. He was an enemy she knew better than many of her former friends, and she was wary of the strange relationship between them.

She soon left the house and sat down on the stone…McCoy's stone, as she called it inwardly. She moved a little aside when Ronah joined her.

"What's on your mind, little sister?" Khell asked.

"The doctor," Ronah said.

"What did he say to you?"

"He…he said that everyone made mistakes. His friends…and you. But you didn't, did you?"

"Oh, I did," Khell replied. "I made a grave mistake when our ship faced the Enterprise. And when I met the doctor two months ago, I did bad things to him. I took my revenge on him, although he hadn't been in on the plan."

The girl kicked the stone with her shoes. "That's why he always freezes a little when you go to him?"

"Yes. He has learned to fear me."

The girl nodded solemnly. "Oudu says he must die."

Khell put one leg over the other. "Do you want him to die?"

"He will save our lives. But it is also because of his friends that we are here."

"Yes."

Ronah turned her head to look at her elder sister. "I like him."

"I know, little one." Khell put her arm around the girl's shoulder. "But sometimes, we have to do things that we don't really want to do. Sacrifice someone for a higher good. Like to restore our honor."

"When he's dead, can we go home again?"

"No," Khell said wistfully. "We can't ever return to our old lives."

"Then I don't want him to die." Ronah put her head on Khell's shoulder.

They sat together on the stone until the night fell.

*

On the next morning, McCoy was up early for another round of bacteria breeding when Khell came to his lab. He felt instantly the shift of atmosphere between them as she wordlessly removed his ankle cuff and ordered him to come with her.

He took his equipment and followed her to the main house and into the already well-known, shady room in the back.

"She's ill," she said and pointed at the bed that had been empty after Hreta's death.

McCoy examined the young girl. It was Khell's other sister Eritra, the one who had never made real contact with McCoy. The one he had vaccinated himself. The teenager was feverish, shivering and sweating, her nose and ears a dark green.

"It's the virus, isn't it?" she asked.

"Looks like," McCoy said. "But I can't say more without a checkup."

"Checkup?" she said coldly. "You said the vaccine would work."

"I hoped it would. I was never sure it was all the answer to the problem," he said. He didn't see her slap coming, and was sent to the side of the bed by the impact.

"Liar," she pressed out. "You never told me that. Maybe my brother was right, and you never tried to heal us."

He palmed his hurting cheek. How he hated it to be the Romulans' punching ball. "Please, Khell — I'm sorry that your sister is ill but I've tried everything to prevent this."

"I doubt it," she stated sharply. "Get out of here." She pulled him up and shoved him out of the room, through all of the hall and out of the main door. He tumbled to his knees in the circle between the houses. Nearby family members drew closer, and he could see in their stony faces that the story of Eritra's illness had already become common knowledge.

"You Fleet bastard." She put her hand on the button, and he cried out as the first electric charge blazed through his body. "And don't ever use my name again."

"Did the best I could. Please — ah." Another shock hit him. He coiled in pain, clamping his hands into the collar. "Give me another day. One day."

"First I'll give you time to regret," the Romulan said coldly. "The collar is set to random repeat."

"God no, I —" There was another blast, and it left him sobbing. For a seemingly endless time, he was caught in a haze between the pain itself and the fear of the next blast, as the collar relentlessly discharged its load, at exactly the level to cause the most agony without knocking him out. When the electro shocks finally stopped, he could barely believe it. He lay on the ground, his face one layer of dirt baked by tears, but his mind suddenly racing.

"Why?" she asked and sat down next to him on the ground. "I trusted you."

"Tell me about Romulus," he whispered. "About the village you came from."

"Doctor…?"

"Not out of my mind. Tell me."

She made herself more comfortable. "Our village was in Hrela. It is a region at the foot of hills, not unlike this planet, but much greener. It is rather warm in summer and well-tempered in winter. A little snow once in a while, but rarely really cold."

"Any special places the kids went to?" "They usually played in the main circle, or in one corner of the grape growing area. Oh, and there was a little lake nearby, at which Ronah loved to played. It was built only ten years ago, as a memorial for soldiers who had died in a Klingon ambush." She stopped. "What do you suspect?"

"Opportunistic illness — the virus," he whispered. "Only jumps a body that was already weakened in a certain way. Like parasites. From a lake."

"Is that likely?" she asked with a frown.

"Not unknown. Would explain the age distribution. Why the virus didn't hit a lot more people. Why the illness doesn't seem to move from person to person either. Why nothing can be found in the environment here. Why the cure and the vaccine don't work…because the parasite eats it up." Incredible how exhausting speaking could be, he thought as he fought for every sentence.

"How would you prove that?"

"Would need to examine your sister and the other kids, as compared to an adult. Most likely habitats for parasites are brain and spine." He rolled onto his back with a groan. He hadn't known his body could hurt so thoroughly.

"Why should I trust you again, doctor?" she asked coolly.

"Because if I'm right, many of your children will die. And I've got nothing to win or lose either way."

She looked at him with her dark eyes. "Maybe I overreacted."

"Fuck off," he whispered. "I do that for the kids…not for you." He collected himself from the ground, shaking off any helping hand. "I'll go to the lab. Will check on your sister as soon as I can see out of my eyes again. If that's not acceptable to you, just kill me now." He limped to the lab, feeling the aftermath of the torture in every single muscle.

*

Maybe he felt his punishment was rightly earned, given that he had overlooked such an obvious possibility. But then, he wasn't on top of his health, constantly lingering on the certifiable border to underweight and undernourishment, sleep-deprived, having contracted the virus himself and living on alien food that challenged his immune system every day…

Excuses, Len, he told himself as he cultivated a parasite sample. Just as suspected, they rested dormant in the spine and also the kidneys, waiting for a trigger he couldn't tell yet. But once they started breeding, the virus was able to get a hold on the kids. The vaccine was useless, as it couldn't help a child with a parasite infection, and unnecessary for everyone else, as the Romulan's immune system could handle the virus itself without problems. The cure, however, worked perfectly once the parasite was removed.

These were the results of his tests after a day, at least. He hadn't yet proven it on a child. He didn't even know if they'd let him try it, given the current level of mistrust in his work. He told Renak to report to her that the two agents were ready, whenever she gave the start signal. Then he waited.

*

After an hour of no reaction, he went to the bedroom and lay down. He had given himself some pain reliever and a round with the medikit, but especially the shoulder muscles were so damaged that he still groaned whenever he moved them. She definitely knew how to have the most impact on someone. On the other hand, having had survived this ordeal, he had more of a fuck-you attitude than ever. Sure, she could hurt him all she wanted, but he'd survive it or die, and both would be a solution.

He slipped into sleep, but there were no nice dreams waiting for him. Instead, he was back to bottomless pits, dark in dark, nameless shadows hunting him through endless corridors. He ran until he couldn't anymore, giving up with hurting lungs. He was paralyzed, on the ground, unable to defend himself against everything they had in store for him. Then they suddenly looked like Vians and slammed a powerful impulse into him, and he screamed as he heard his ribs crushing.

"Doctor!" He was shaken — and shaking — as he opened his eyes to find her sitting next to him. She held his hands, not letting him escape.

"Do you have many nightmares?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he replied, his voice trembling as he wavered on the edge between reality and dream. "Wasn't that what you wanted? Does it make you happy?"

She placed his hands gently on his chest. "No." She went up. "Come over to my sister when you are ready. We will be waiting."

"What about Darra?" he asked.

"She died while you were tortured. We will have to test the medicine on my sister." She left the bedroom.

He coiled up, trying to summon all the hate he felt for her, but finding only endless sorrow, for everyone.

*

He followed her half an hour later, and when he entered the main hall of the house, he faced the family, Oudu right in front. It looked like a tribunal, but they let him pass and go to the room with the ill girl. Khell was waiting for him, and offered him a chair.

He took a seat and got out the two loads for the hypo, a brilliant blue one for the parasite, and a light brown one for the cure. Then he sat up the medical tricorder to keep an eye on the girl's life signs. Finally, he looked up at the commander, waiting for her explicit order.

"Apply it," she said and put her palm on Eritra's burning forehead.

He administered the shot for the parasite first. "Let's give that one half an hour; the combined shots may be too much right now."

Khell nodded. They sat in a silence that was only slightly disturbed by the girl's labored breath.

He looked at the girl for a while, always half an eye on the data on his tricorder; then he looked at the Romulan commander. There was that expression on her face again that spoke of love and caring and it would never cease to amaze him how people could be the kindest persons on Earth to their family, and be the greatest bastards when it came to others. To him, all life was dear, and pain was something to be alleviated. He couldn't draw that line between 'us' and 'them', as most others seemed to be able to do. And while he sometimes paid for that, like in his encounter with Spock's mirror personality, it was the only way he could live with himself.

She suddenly looked up and met his gaze. "The time is over," she said.

He nodded and discharged the second mixture into the girl's blood stream. The life signs seemed to take a little double-take, then started moving, the direction not yet clear. "The next hour will show if it is really effective," he said.

They sat again in silence. This time, McCoy's eyes were only on the data on his tricorder. He had attuned it to certain signals from the virus, and when the line slowly sloped into a decrease, he felt incredibly relieved.

"It seems to work," he said. "But there can always be complications. Medicine just isn't an exact science."

"I know…in essence," she said. "Doctor —"

"Don't say anything." He harshly cut off what would probably be an apology he couldn't bear to hear. "I'm going to stay here, keeping an eye on her. I'll probably give her another shot for both the parasite and the virus in two hours, and then some add-ons like electrolytes and vitamins."

"Agreed." She went up. "I will inform my family." She left him alone.

*

When the door opened again some time later, McCoy looked up. It was Ronah, a cup in her hands.

"Something for you," she said and offered it to him. It was coffee, but strongly sugared and with a side note he didn't recognize.

"My aunt says it's good for you."

"Well, if your aunt says so…" He gave it a brief check with the tricoder, but there seemed to be no venom in it, so he drank it.

"I'm sorry," Ronah said suddenly.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

"I watched your punishment. And I wanted you to hurt. "

He clamped his fingers around the cup as he tried to shove the painful memories aside. "I guess everyone did. You all thought I hadn't done my job…and let's face it, I really hadn't done it properly."

"You worked hard."

"Not enough."

"If I make a mistake in my physics calculation, would you beat me because of it?"

"I would never beat a child." He emptied the cup, trying to flush down the taste of pain. "But I admit that I would never punish anyone under my command for a simple error or an understandable oversight."

"Only yourself."

"Yes." He stared into the empty cup. "When I fail…nobody's a worse critic than myself."

"It's illogical."

"Thank you, little Vulcan," he said, trying for a lighter note.

"How are they?" she asked and sat down on the chair left by Khell. "Vulcans?"

"Very logical. Very exact. Very direct. And always trying to control their emotions."

"Do they really look like us? With pointed ears?"

"Yes."

"Why are they our enemies then?" she asked.

"Well, they think you are their enemies." McCoy couldn't help smiling. The universe would be a much better place when children of all races would meet each other very early in life. On the other hand, he remembered on a more somber note, nobody was as cruel as children when it came to kids who were different. Spock himself was the best proof for that, if he believed the little story Amanda had told him in confidence.

Ronah frowned. "Do you think I'm your enemy?"

"Not yet. But once you're the captain of a starship and we'd meet each other in space, two ships of different worlds confronting each other, no visual contact, arms online and powered up, each of us will only see an enemy on screen. We can't look into the hearts of the other ones, or simply talk to them. And sometimes, even when you talk there's no solution. Because once harm is done, it can never really be undone."

"So I'm forever your enemy now because I supported your punishment?" The girl hung her head.

"No," he said gently and lifted her chin with his hand. "Because we are sitting here, and I can see into your eyes and heart and accept that you are really sorry about it. You were willing to reconsider your opinion, and maybe next time, you think about such a scene before it takes place. And make another decision, maybe."

"I will." She nodded. Then she slipped from the chair. "Thanks for helping Eritra. She really doesn't like you. Because you're just the enemy to her."

"I know. But that doesn't matter to me."

They hugged, then he watched her leaving. She reminded him of Joanna so much that it hurt…actually hurt a lot more than anything Khell could do. Nothing was worse than that inner pain caused by the knowledge that things had gone wrong and could never be fixed again, chances had been offered and ignored and there was no way to turn back time. He promised himself that should he survive all of this, he would contact his daughter again…if she allowed it. He had no rights on her anymore, had long forfeited them.

He blinked away a stray tear, annoyed about his emotional outbreak. There were really better moments to think about this particular problem. For now, he had a girl to save and a colony to heal. And then…fate would tell.

*

She came to him after some more hours of his vigil, softly waking him up. "Eritra doesn't need you anymore tonight. Come with me." Tiredly, he followed her to the ship and to her cabin, wondering what she would have in store for him now. She pressed the button for the door.

"Take a water shower," she said and pointed inside. "You will find fresh clothes in the bathroom. Leave your own on the table; they will be cleaned and returned to you."

He hesitated in the doorframe.

"I will not come in, I promise," she said. "But it would be agreeable if you left some water in the reservoir."

"Did I use it all up last time? Sorry for that." He stepped into the room.

She shrugged. "You have half an hour," she said, and closed the door.

He slowly stripped out of his clothes. They looked terribly scruffy and were partly torn from his last ordeal. It was good to get out of them, and he folded each garment and put it on the table as ordered. Then he walked into the bathroom, where the promised fresh clothes and a towel were waiting for him.

He stepped under the spray, trying to forget that the last time he had been here, she had turned his moment of recreation into a humiliation scene. Bracing his hands onto the back wall of the stall, he let the water flow down on him, massaging his hurting shoulder muscles and washing away some of his misery.

Half an hour later, he was back to his own quarters, in clean Romulan clothes and once again chained up for the night.

*

Three days later, the work was done; all Romulans with parasites, more than 90% of them children, were freed from them, and the already infected children were cured. Only a few of them lived in habitat 3, and as Khell took the principal's threat rather seriously, it was t'El who delivered the cure for both the parasite and the virus to them.

A few doses of the virus cure were kept in storage, but the cure would also be quickly reproducible in case the virus would manage to infect anyone else with a weak immune system. The leftovers of the vaccine were stashed away, maybe to be of use one day for people like McCoy who didn't have a natural immunity to the environmental virus on this planet — or at least, as a start for a new doctor. McCoy collected all data and organized it, archiving everything unnecessary before deleting it from the active file banks. Too much useless information could make people miss the important one. They could always go back to the backup for research.

With the cleaning up, he also realized that his time was running out. In fact, it almost astonished him that Oudu wasn't standing in the door yet, ready to break his neck. But he decided not to look into the mouth of this particular gift horse.

He was just done with the last rearrangement of lab equipment when she came. In her hands, there were a bottle of Romulan Ale and two glasses. She sat down next to him at the lab table and poured them both a drink.

"To your work, doctor. You have proven your extraordinary reputation as a healer," she said, and it sounded sincerely enough to touch him.

"Thank you." He toasted to her, and they downed the first glass. She poured them a second one.

"Are you trying to make me drunk?" he asked.

"I assume I would need more than two glasses for that," she said. "To the stars," she toasted, and they drained the second round.

"Or is that the last gift for the man fated to die?" he asked solemnly, and offered his glass for another fill.

"Maybe," she said. Then, in one of her classic non-sequiturs, she said, "I thought about you and Jim Kirk."

"Oh please, not again," he sighed. He downed his drink, hoping the booze was faster than her questions. She had never really cared for the result of her actions — why now?

She ignored his remark. "It didn't really matter to him what I did to you?" she asked.

"It did, but not in the way you intended. He hasn't lost his honor or anything." McCoy peeled some dry skin from his hands. The gloves had never made it to the lab.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," she demanded, and his head snapped up.

"How did Spock react?"

"He doesn't know."

"I sent him a disk," she said sharply. "I would have assumed he at least knows what honor is."

McCoy sighed again and folded his hands, looking her straight in the eye. "When you caught me, the days of our command were over for more than a year. Kirk is in the AF headquarters, promoted to admiral — a decision over which we estranged. Spock returned to Vulcan, joined an obscure sect and will likely never leave it again. I had taken unlimited leave from the service and started practicing in a rural county." He briefly rubbed his forehead. "You were too late to make a real impact on anyone but me with what you did. Spock's disk ended in the hands of his father, who gave it to Jim. Who gave it to me when I demanded it. I destroyed them all when I left San Francisco."

"I understand," she said, her irritating gaze resting on him.

"I'm sure you've got more of them. What do you want to do, launch a campaign? Or show them to your brother?" he asked in resignation.

"He thinks you're my brainwashed slave anyway," she said in a light amusement.

"It protected me from his wrath for now. I'm not beyond appreciating that."

She looked at him serenely. "I could've done it, you know. Break you. Turn your temporary resolve to obey into permanent obedience."

"I know." He tensed, wondering where the discussion was heading.

"It would have been an interesting experience. But I doubt the result would have satisfied me over time."

He didn't quite know what to say and decided that staying silent was the least dangerous option. He was taken by surprise when she pulled out her phaser. "So we're there again?" he asked, his throat tight.

"Not yet." She switched the settings to stun. Then she ordered him to get up and chained his hands behind his back.

"Come with me." She directed him through the darkness, the phaser in her hand. He could see distant lights from the houses, but they vanished as they went deeper into the hills. He fought the terrible feeling of foreboding, with little effect.

"May I ask something?" he pressed out, just to break the monotonous sound of their steps on the gravel.

"Yes," came her answer from behind him.

"What happened to you in the past? With a crate?"

She didn't answer right away, and he actually didn't think she would. But then her quiet voice reached his ear. "I never told anyone before, but you have earned the right to hear the story. It was a ritual in my first year at the flight academy. A trial of one's strength and endurance, organized by older students."

McCoy slowed down. "A ritual?" He couldn't help laughing about the absurdity of having become the fallout victim of a Romulan hazing ritual, although the chattering of his teeth was betraying his growing panic. How many more people had taken the brunt of those abused themselves? It was an endless circle, everywhere, on every planet, every species. Hell is other people. Always. And her next words only confirmed it.

"One year later it was my tasting the unique power of shutting the lids," she added softly. "To have an existence in one's hands — such a precious thing, and yet so fragile… so forget about pitying me." She pushed the phaser in his back. "Keep moving." He took up speed again, feeling increasingly unreal as they made their way over another hill, expecting her to stop him and end his life any second.

But they never stopped, and he finally noticed that they approached a real destination; there was light at the foot of the hill, and someone waiting for them. It was one of her men.

McCoy felt the magnetic cuffs unlock, but kept his arms back.

"Give him your hands," she ordered. In surprise, McCoy watched the Romulan remove the cuffs, then the collar from his neck. He touched his wrists in wonder.

"What are you up to?" he asked her.

"I'll let you go," she said. "But swear to me by your doctor's oath that you will keep silent about this colony and everyone involved with it."

"I will," he said, unable to believe in his luck yet.

She put the phaser away. "Good. I trust you to keep your word."

Suddenly, he understood. "The phaser wasn't really for me."

"No, I thought my brother would try to interfere, but it seems my spiked juice worked."

"You will get in trouble for me?"

"For everyone who I think is worth the trouble." She took out a roll of tape. "I have to do this," she said apologizing and taped first his wrists together behind his back, then his eyes shut.

"You wouldn't believe how much I hate this kind of statement," McCoy whispered, blinded and tied once more. But at least, he was clothed and better fed this time. What a difference it made.

"But no crate, I promise. It's just a security measure. You'll be delivered to the moon you wanted to reach originally. You will have your papers, credit cards and your medical equipment. It will be no problem to return to Earth, if you want to."

"Okay."

She put her hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. "It may sound strange, but I think I will miss you, doctor. It is unlikely that we will ever meet again, so let me say that I came to regret some of my actions. They were not honorable. I expect no forgiveness from you, but I hope that you accept my words as true."

"I…understand." McCoy said. She was right, he couldn't forgive her for changing the course of his life so brutally. But the last weeks had changed some things, in a very strange, unexpected way.

"Goodbye," he heard her voice; then the beam of a transporter caught him to bring him to his next, unknown destination.


End file.
